


A Toast to What If

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Movie AU, Post WWII Era, Unplanned Pregnancy, a walk in the clouds inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26321797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Immediately following the end of WWII, Killian Jones and Emma Swan have a serendipitous meeting upon a train platform while each travels to their respective homes. When Emma’s traveling companion fails to arrive, she offers Killian her extra ticket so he isn’t forced to spend the night on a hard bench outside the station’s office. Once aboard, Emma receives devastating news - her lover has abandoned her to face her family alone with the news she is pregnant, and now, without a fiance. Moved with compassion, and a willingness to put off what is (or rather, what is not) awaiting him at home, Killian offers to go with her to face her family. They concoct a scheme to get married then have Killian “abandon” her a few weeks afterward, leaving her with no other option than to seek a divorce. A plan that will cast him as the villain and leave her somewhat blameless in her family’s eyes.Falling in love with one another along the way wasn’t a part of the plan.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 209
Kudos: 268
Collections: Captain Swan Movie Marathon





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by the movie A Walk in the Clouds, but I will be taking it in my own direction. The first major change is Killian’s character is not married in this fic as Paul’s was in the film (Just in case you would be disinclined to read it otherwise). Other departures from the film will be revealed as we go. I’m planning on updating every other Sunday, trading off with my cssns fic.
> 
> So grateful to the mods and all the participants of the @csmm! Much love and thanks to my betas and cheerleaders: @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @kmomof4

* * *

**Chapter 1**

The train platform began to fill up with passengers, all awaiting the arrival of the last train scheduled to depart north. Milling about were a number of families; husbands and wives reunited now that the war was over, ready to take their children back into the cities so they could resume some measure of normalcy. The sounds of the youngsters’ excitement filled the air, mingling with the raucous laughter of service men ornamented in uniforms that denoted their country of origin, branch of service, and rank.

Men like Killian Jones. As a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy (well, technically a Captain now, but what did it matter), he did not enter into the merriment his comrades were revelling in. Unlike them, he wouldn't be headed home tonight. He’d arrived too late to secure a ticket, the incoming train fully booked and nothing available until the morning. Another delay in a long comedy of errors keeping him from returning home.

Dropping his duffle off his shoulder, Killian massaged the ache it left behind and waited for one of the benches to open up so he could settle himself there. He wasn’t looking forward to spending the night on its hard surface, but he had little choice. What few funds he had were needed to get him the rest of the way home. A deep sigh released itself from his chest, but was interrupted and replaced by a startled gasp when a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist.

“Hey there, soldier. I was wondering if you’d make it in time.”

Killian peered over his shoulder, his brows furrowed in confusion, and met an equally perplexed gaze of brilliant green which quickly morphed into mortification.

“Oh, God!” the woman exclaimed, pulling her arms away as she took several steps back. “I am so sorry. Clearly, I thought you were someone else.”

“It’s alright, lass,” Killian chuckled, enjoying the beguiling blush blooming across her cheeks. “Can’t say as I mind having a beautiful woman’s arms around me, especially when the war has made that an impossibility for so long. This _someone else_ is a very lucky man.”

He’d meant for his words to hold an air of lightness, a sense of flirtatious frivolity that might assuage her embarrassment, but with the way her blonde hair was glowing in the setting sun, its dying rays hugging the curves of her body in their caressing silhouette, a note of soft sincerity found its way into the hushed tone of his declaration, causing a blush of his own to tint the tips of his ears.

“Um… thank you,” she responded, tucking a loose strand of hair that had come free from its pins behind her ear as she searched about the platform with her gaze. “Lucky and very late,” she muttered before looking up at him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry again.”

Instinctively, Killian reached out to lightly grasp her elbow when she moved to step around him. “Might I be of some assistance, lass? I take it you’re looking for a fellow British officer?”

“Yes… I mean, no. He’s American, actually. You just looked like him from behind.” Her eyes snapped shut and the tint at her cheeks deepened. “I mean, the uniform. Your uniforms look similar from the back.”

Killian quickly schooled his grin and choked back the laugh bubbling up from his chest, not wishing to embarrass the woman further. “I’m afraid I haven’t noticed any Yanks milling about, but if I do I’ll be happy to point them out to you Miss…”

“Swan,” the woman replied, taking his proffered hand and giving it a polite shake. “Emma Swan.”

“Lovely to meet you, Swan.” Killian grimaced and shot her a look of apology. “Sorry. Habit.”

“I get it,” she waved off with a smile. “It’ll take some time for me to get used to addressing people by something other than their last name or rank, too…” Her eyes narrowed, homing in on the details of his uniform before they widened slightly when she’d obviously identified his rank, “Captain.”

“Please,” he said, scratching behind his ear with an air of discomfort. “Call me Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Jones,” she replied with the deference she’d likely been taught in whatever role she’d served in during the war.

He couldn’t fault her for the protocol, yet the hollow void in his chest, coupled with the sour feeling that occurred in his stomach whenever anyone addressed him as Captain, had him balling his hands into fists and gritting his teeth. “Please, love,” he responded in a strained and slightly pleading tone. “Just Killian.”

Emma wet her lips, her brows pinched together for a moment until understanding seemed to seep into her gaze, which he thankfully found lacking in pity, something he’d received enough of these past few weeks.

Killian gave her a small smile and wished her well on her endeavors. “I hope you find the man you’re looking for.”

“Yeah, um… thanks,” she said, seemingly having forgotten all about her beau and turning her attention back to the crowd. “I’ll um… Maybe I’ll see you on the train.”

Before he could respond with the unlikelihood of that possibility, she brushed past him and went on her way. Glancing at her over his shoulder, Killian couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth when he saw her do the same.

Off in the distance, the distinct rumble of the incoming train was heard and felt by all, prompting everyone to take their appropriate places on the platform and opening up a bench for Killian to procure for the night. He’d just reclined against the hard surface, having lowered the front of his cap over his face to shield his eyes from the setting sun when a shadow appeared, making the action unnecessary.

“Aren’t you coming?” the familiar voice questioned, prompting Killian to flick the bill of cap up so he could look up at her.

“Afraid not,” he answered. “Tickets were all sold out by the time I got here, so I’ll have to wait for the morning train.”

“So… what? You’re just gonna sleep out here?” Emma replied, incredulously.

“I assure you, love,” he replied with a small bit of sass, settling his cap over his eyes once more. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

He had not pulled the brim low enough to miss the way she worried her lip, casting a glance over her shoulder when the conductor called for those with tickets for the sleeper carriage, nor the way she scanned the surrounding area one last time before reaching down and grabbing his hand.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Come on,” she repeated, tugging at him to get up. “You don’t want my other ticket to go to waste, do you?”

“But… what if your beau arrives just in the nick of time?”

“Then I guess you’ll have to sleep on that bench after all, but seeing as he _isn’t_ here…”

She left the statement hanging between them, her hand still firmly wrapped around his own with her brows lifted in expectation. It took him less than a moment to snatch up his duffle, following her as they both rushed towards the train hand in hand.

“Are you sure about this, Swan?” he asked when they entered the cramped quarters of the sleeper compartment.

“It’s fine,” she assured him, lowering the bed still folded against the wall and plopping herself down onto the plush mattress. Her suitcase had already been delivered by the porters, stowed away in the storage area above them. “You can take the floor,” she told him with a coy smirk. “It’s not like you haven’t slept in worse places, right?”

“Aye,” he said with a chuckle, dropping his duffle and making himself cozy on the carpet.

Though he was happy for the turn of events, Killian couldn’t help but war with himself when the train began to pull away and Swan took one last longing look out the window, clearly hoping her man would magically appear.

“I’m sorry he didn’t make it, Swan,” he said, turning on his side and propping his head in his hand.

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “He must have got caught up in town. I’m sure he’ll make it on the next train out.”

“I’m sure he will,” Killian agreed. “He’d be a fool not to.”

Her cheeks flushed and she dipped her head at the compliment, until a soft knock at their door interrupted the atmosphere his words had created between them.

“Miss Swan?” the attendant asked after she’d called out for him to enter. “This letter was left at the station for you with instructions it be delivered once we were underway.”

Swan accepted the envelope with a trembling hand. With her focus solely fixated on the letter, her fingers shakily running over the scrawled handwriting on the front of the envelope, Killian took it upon himself to thank the attendant and send him on his way with a tip from his own meager pocket. He could feel the dread and despair rolling off her in waves as she turned the letter over in her hands.

Sensing she would most likely need some time to collect herself after the letter revealed whatever it was she was fearing, Killian cleared his throat, snapping her attention up to him.

“I, uh… I’m going to go stretch my legs a bit,” he told her, thumbing over his shoulder to the corridor beyond the door. “Maybe get us both a night cap?”

Swan swallowed thickly and acknowledged him with a small nod before turning back to the letter. The soft crinkling of paper being unfolded followed Killian out the door.

~/~

Another tear splashed against the letter clutched in Emma’s angry fist. How? How could he do this to her? Balling up the paper, she threw it as hard as she could at the door, only for it to smack Killian Jones in the chest when he appeared with two steaming mugs in his hands.

“Sorry,” Emma mumbled, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“I gathered when I left you weren’t anticipating good news,” he said, extending one of the mugs towards her. “Hot chocolate?”

“Um, thanks,” she sniffled, taking the proffered beverage.

“I know I mentioned a night cap, but I’m afraid my funds wouldn’t extend to the outrageous prices the dining car is charging for rum, so I took a chance with the cocoa,” he explained, settling back on the floor and softly blowing on the piping hot liquid before taking a sip. “I hope you don’t mind it plain,” he went on, licking his lips. “I wasn’t sure if you were more a marshmallow or whipped cream sort of girl.”

Emma knew he was likely prattling on in order to avoid the elephant still laying crumbled up on the floor where it had landed, and she was grateful for it.

“Whipped cream,” she replied, taking a sip and letting the rich, warm liquid coat her tired throat, raw from the pent up emotion she hadn’t fully released yet. “And a sprinkling of cinnamon.”

“Cinnamon?” he hummed in consideration. “I’ll have to try that sometime.”

They lapsed into silence, enjoying the hot chocolate as the train rocked them with a gentle rhythm while barreling on through the darkness. Once finished, Killian collected her cup and set it outside the door with his. Picking up the discarded letter, he stood there apprehensively for a moment. Emma’s eyes were trained on him, expecting the words about to cross over those perfect lips of his.

Yes, she probably shouldn’t have been staring at them earlier when they’d met on the platform, but it was hard not to. Truth be told, she’d had a hard time not staring at any part of him. From the dark fringe that had hung over his forehead beneath his cap, to the bright blue eyes that had nearly rendered her speechless, Killian Jones was a hard man to ignore. His appeal only grew now that they were in close quarters and he’d had a chance to relax his appearance. Removing the cap had uncovered a riotous mess of dark hair her fingers itched to help smooth out, and when his uniform jacket followed, the tight fit of his shirt and the expanse of neck and chest displayed when he loosened a few buttons certainly didn’t help matters. It was clear from the several days' growth along his jaw that he’d been traveling and unable to shave, and while not exactly regulation, Emma thought the look suited him rather well.

Now, standing before her with his shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms and a hesitant expression in his eyes, Emma’s breath caught in her chest. It felt like a betrayal, being attracted to this man, which was ridiculous considering the letter she’d just received. And yet...

“I don’t wish to pry, love, but,” Killian paused, his tongue swiping over his lip and his Adam’s apple bobbing before he continued, “if you’d like to talk about it, I’m a pretty good listener.”

Emma’s eyes flitted between his and the hand he had stretched out, handing the crumpled paper back to her. She tried not to take notice of how both their arms erupted in gooseflesh when her fingers brushed his while taking the letter from his grasp, and instead patted the mattress beside her, inviting him to sit. She felt the bed dip when he settled himself next to her, patiently waiting for her to begin without any pressure, leaving plenty of space between them.

“He isn’t coming,” she told him, though she was sure he’d probably worked that out by now. “Said he can’t go through with it.”

“Can’t go through with what?”

“Facing my family.” She shifted uncomfortably, a mixture of shame and defensiveness coming to the surface when she confessed. “I’m pregnant.”

She knew his eyes had darted to her left hand, noticing the distinct lack of ring, but he said nothing.

“We were supposed to go to my family together. Announce our engagement and insist on a quick wedding, so no one would find out that we…”

She buried her head in her hands, a sob choking in the back of her throat as she pictured the looks on her parents’ faces when she would now have to tell them she got pregnant out of wedlock. Killian’s arms tentatively wrapped around her, only tightening when she leaned in and pressed her face into his chest. He held her, gently smoothing a hand over her back while she cried tears of anguish and anger, not saying a word until her emotions were spent.

“He knew you were pregnant and chose to leave rather than facing the consequences?” She wasn’t sure if it was actually a question, but she nodded in response anyway. “Then the man is a bloody wanker and not at all deserving of you or the child you carry. You’re better off, love.”

Irritation flared within her and she pushed him away. “That’s easy for you to say,” she spat. “You’re not the one who has to face those consequences alone!”

Regret and contrition over his words pulled at his features. “You’re right, Swan. I’m sorry. But surely your parents will--”

“It’s not my parents’ reaction I'm worried about.”

Once again, he stoically sat beside her, his posture and expression open and accepting with his apology still swimming in his eyes, encouraging her to continue. Emma sighed, and dove into the tale.

“It’s my grandfather,” she began. “Shortly after the last war, he came to England and bought up estates that were on the verge of financial collapse. He’d made his fortune in America, and wanted to… I don’t know, make a name for himself among the nobles here. He brought my Uncle James with him, but years ago when my uncle died, my father, mother, and I relocated here to assist Grandpa George with his estates. Reputation means _everything_ to him, and while I couldn’t care less if he disowns _me_ , I couldn’t live with myself if he took his disappointment out on my parents.”

“Would he really do such a thing?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know, but I wouldn’t put it past him.” Tears welled up in her eyes again, and try as she might, she couldn’t keep them from falling down her cheeks. “My father and uncle aren’t his biological sons. He adopted them when he married their mother after their real father died. He always favored James for some reason, so he and my father never really got along. My father marrying my mother only made matters worse, because she wasn’t from _the right sort of family_.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a peach,” Killian quipped, squeezing her hand.

When had they started holding hands?

“Look, Swan, I didn’t mean to make light of your situation before. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

She reciprocated the squeeze on his hand, hoping he’d take it as a sign of her forgiveness. When she glanced up at him, he wore a pensive expression, his tongue once again running along the seam of his mouth before asking, “Are your parents expecting you to arrive with your fiance, or was this to be a surprise visit?”

“A surprise. I’ve never even mentioned him to them.” That detail seemed to surprise him, causing his brows to shoot up his forehead. “It was sort of a whirlwind romance,” she muttered defensively, dropping her eyes to her lap.

“Then they won’t know the difference when you introduce me in his place?”

Now it was Emma’s turn to look at him incredulously with wide eyes and high brows, her mouth dropping open as a half shrieked, “What?” left her tongue. “Introduce you in his place? Are you insane?”

“Hear me out, love,” he pressed. “You and I can do exactly as you and your… _he_ were planning to do. We’ll tell your parents how hopelessly in love we are, that the war taught us how short life can be, and how we wish to be married immediately. Once wed, I’ll stick around for a week or two then skulk off in the middle of the night. Everyone will believe you became pregnant after our nuptials, and even if they don’t, our marriage certificate will legitimize the babe. You can hardly be held at fault for a low life wretch like me cutting out on you, forcing you to seek a divorce sometime in the near future when you do meet the man you’re meant to spend your life with.”

Emma’s throat was drying out from having her mouth hanging open all this time. Was he serious? He didn’t even know her. Who in their right mind would offer to do something so insanely selfless?

“It’ll be my way of repaying you for the ticket.”

Emma wasn’t even aware she’d said all that out loud. Taken aback by his response, she snorted and quipped, “The fare wasn’t _that_ expensive, Killian.”

“Then this will be my way to repay your kindness.” Reaching behind his neck, Killian rubbed the muscles between his shoulders, the tension he carried there apparent on his face. “Look, Swan. You don’t deserve to go through this alone, and if I can help you in any way then… let me.”

“What about your family? They must be expecting you. You can’t just disappear for weeks. Don’t you need to get home?”

Killian’s jaw clenched, the muscle beneath his cheek flickering briefly before he confessed, “I have no more family, and I’m not sure the destination I was heading to is even home anymore.”

“What happened?”

Killian’s jaw clenched and his eyes dipped momentarily. “I, uh… I lost someone close to me during the war.” His Adam’s apple bobbed and his voice became tight as he continued. “My brother.”

Emma took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

A tight smile pulled at his lips; one that did not reach his eyes. “It’s alright, love. It just means I have no obligations awaiting me, and am therefore available to stand-in as your betrothed.”

Sensing the pain festering just beneath the surface, Emma shied away from pressing him for details about his brother. Instead, she gave voice to another concern that had just come to mind.

“Um… when you say stand-in what, _exactly_ , are you expecting once we, uh… you know?”

From the slight tilt of his head and scrunched forehead, it was clear he did not readily know what she was asking. After a moment, comprehension seemed to dawn on him.

“I have _no_ expectations,” he assured her. “Our marriage would be in name only, and while I am sure we’ll have to share quarters in order to make it seem convincing, I assure you, love, I am a gentleman.”

Emma nodded at his reassurance. She’d already expected as much, but wanted things to be clear between them. It occurred to her that they’d have to discuss other details as well. Things they’d have to be in agreement on when they introduced him to her parents; how they met, how long they’d been together, how he’d proposed. Her mother would insist on a play-by-play, and her father would most likely give Killian the third degree.

After relaying these thoughts to Killian, they spent the next several hours coming up with and rehearsing their story. Before finally bunking down to try and get a few hours of sleep, Killian brought up one more issue that needed resolving.

“It wouldn’t do for my fiance to not have a ring,” he said, reaching back and unclasping the necklace he had hidden beneath his shirt. “This was my brother’s,” he told her as he unthreaded it from the chain, turning it over in his hand before reaching out to slip it on her finger. “I know it isn’t much, but--”

“It’s perfect,” Emma assured him, the words catching in the back of her throat as her eyes pooled with tears.

“Swan? I’m sorry, did I… have I upset you?”

“No,” she shook her head, flicking away an errant tear that had broken free from her lashes. “It’s just… that was the errand Neal said he had to make when he left our hotel this morning.” Swallowing thickly, she looked up into Killian’s eyes, swirling with a heated mix of compassion and anger as she continued on. “After brunch, he said he was going into town to find a jeweler. Said he’d likely be gone all day, and I should just meet him at the station.” Emma’s eyes fell to the red stone resting on her finger, feeling foolish for believing it would have taken him all day to find a ring. “I suppose the fact he took his luggage with him, rather than having me send it to the station with mine, should have been a tip off, huh?”

“You couldn’t have known, Swan,” Killian said softly.

“I’m starting to think I didn’t know him at all.”

“Perhaps not, but you do now.” Killian took her hands into his own. “Better to find out the truth of what sort of man he is before he could ruin more lives.” His gaze fell to her stomach.

A haunted shadow peeking around the corner of his expression told Emma he might have had some experience with that, but as with his brother, she had no wish to pry, despite her curiosities.

Lifting one of her hands, he placed a soft kiss to the back of it and murmured, “Get some rest, Swan,” before settling himself back on the floor.

Emma switched off the compartment light and sank beneath the covers when she began to worry her lip with one last revelation she knew she needed to reveal.

“Um, Killian?”

“Aye?” he said groggily. How long had she been lying there warring with herself?

“There’s one more thing you need to know.”

“What’s that, love?”

“My name,” she said. “It’s not… it’s not actually Swan. I, uh. I changed it when I enlisted so I wouldn’t be treated differently from the other ladies working as clerks.”

“Treated differently? Why would you be treated differently? What’s your name?”

“Nolan,” she replied, “Emma Nolan.”

“Bloody hell.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Killian ran his palms over the several day’s growth covering his jawline. Even if he had the necessities needed to tame the unseemly facial hair, he dared not attempt to do so with the unsteady movements of the train. He only hoped Emma’s parents would excuse his appearance. Though, now he knew they were Nolans, he doubted such a transgression would go unnoticed.

He’d recognized the name at once. One could hardly peruse the front page of any paper within the United Kingdom and not see the name Nolan featured in at least one article. Whether it be on the subject of industry, politics, society, or the war, George Nolan was a pillar of influence, and the fact he was American made him all the more infamous. It was no wonder Emma had opted to take on an assumed name during her service, and if he had not understood her dread at having to tell her family about the baby without a fiance or husband by her side, he certainly did now.

He was currently experiencing his own deep sense of dread at the prospect of having to announce their engagement without them having any sort of inkling of his arrival.

When the announcement came that they were about to pull into the station, Killian made his way back to the sleep car he’d shared with Emma the night before. Just as she’d been when they’d departed, Emma was staring out the window, watching the platform grow closer, tension rolling off her in waves. She jolted when the door to their compartment snapped shut. When he apologized for startling her, she offered him a smile that was slightly tight in its corners.

“Last chance to change your mind,” she said in what she’d probably intended to be a light-hearted quip, yet Killian could hear the nerves vibrating beneath her words. Nerves that attested to the fear he might do exactly that.

Killian sank down onto the bed and took her hand. “I’m in this for the long haul, Swan.” Raising her hand, he brushed a quick kiss over the back of her knuckles. The tension in her smile released, allowing it to grow wider and more assured, and he mirrored it back to her with his own.

Disembarking from the train, Kilian hitched his duffle further up his shoulder and adjusted the grip he had on her suitcase, insisting on carrying it for her despite the trek she warned they’d have to make. It seemed that not only was the arrival of a fiance to be a surprise, but her own was as well. Fortunately, providence took pity on them and provided a transport that would save them the miles long journey.

“Miss Nolan!” an older gentleman exclaimed, closing the tailgate of his truck before removing his cap and making his way towards them.

“Marco, it’s so good to see you,” Emma greeted, kissing each of the man’s weathered cheeks which pinked in response. “How are you? How’s your family?”

“Good, good. Everyone is well. And you? Returning home from service, I assume?” His eyes flicked to where Killian was hovering just behind Emma’s shoulder, and a brow rose with knowing interest. “And not alone, I see.”

“I am, and you are correct,” she replied before urging Killian forward and threading her arm with his. “Marco, I’d like you to meet Killian Jones,” she paused briefly and Killian could feel her nerves trembling through her arm, “my fiance.”

Killian set her suitcase down so he could take the enthusiastic hand Marco offered him, the unexpected strength from his seemingly frail frame jarring him as they shook hands.

“Such wonderful news!” Marco exclaimed. “I am sure your parents are thrilled.”

“Actually,” Emma hedged. “They don’t know yet. We wanted it to be a surprise. Right, darling?”

Her necked craned up to catch his eye, a faint look of desperation swimming in her viridian gaze.

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, placing his hand over the one she had resting on his forearm, his fingers brushing over the ring he’d slipped onto it the night before. “With the frenzy of the war ending, we didn’t want to waste time with formalities. I only hope Emma’s father will forgive the infraction of my not asking for his blessing before popping the question,” he said with a light chuckle, hoping it would help sell the story they had concocted together.

“I’m sure he will,” Marco said, though his expression suggested otherwise. “My August, however, will be devastated to hear the news of his life long love finding happiness with another.” His wink pulled an amused huff from Emma’s lips, then he gestured to his truck as he continued, “Please. Let me offer you a ride to the estate. You’ve already had quite a journey.”

Emma thanked him and removed her arm from Killian’s so he could deposit their bags in the bed of the truck. Opening the passenger side door, he whispered into Emma’s ear.

“Should I be worried about this August fellow?”

“Why?” Emma replied coyly, flicking her eyes at him from beneath her lashes. “Are you jealous?”

Though he’d asked the question from a standpoint of how August might interfere with their plan, the realization that there was truth behind Emma’s teasing question floored Killian momentarily, leaving him at a loss for words.

“Don’t worry,” Emma whispered while climbing into the cab. “We’ve only ever been just good friends, ever since we were children. Besides,” she murmured even lower, casting him a significant look with a hint of a smirk, ”you’re actually more August’s type than I am.”

That confession had Killian’s brows shooting up his forehead. He’d met men of that sort before, had even served alongside a few of them, and despite society’s and the law’s judgments, he’d never taken issue with any of them. How, and with whom, they chose to spend their private time behind closed doors was none of Killian’s affair. His shock at Emma’s words was more to do with the fact Emma knew such preferences within certain men even existed.

Sliding onto the bench seat beside her, Killian leaned down to purr tauntingly into her ear. “Perhaps you’re the one who should be worried about August once he’s exposed to my charms, then.”

Her wide eyes rounded on him, and he hitched his brows at her with his tongue pressed cheekily at the back of his teeth. Laughter erupted from her as soon as she realised he was teasing, making Killian’s heart flutter at the sound. She coughed back her remaining chortles when Marco opened the driver side door and swung himself up behind the steering wheel, then took Killian’s hand, lacing their fingers together before they set off.

~/~

Emma had insisted Marco drop them on the East side of the property, knowing the actual drive leading up the house was out of the man’s way. Plus, she hoped the pleasant walk through the pasture and orchards might help calm her nerves, as well as give Killian more time to come to grips with who she was. It hadn’t escaped her notice how pale and overcome Killian had begun to look when the sweeping lands of Misthaven Estate and the manor, imposing even at this distance, had come into view.

“Tell me more about your family,” Killian requested. “I’d like to be as prepared as I can be.”

It was something she’d already come to learn about him, the more informed he was the more in control he felt. He’d quizzed her on countless details while they’d hatched their plan, not wanting to leave anything to chance, not wanting to be caught off guard by a question they had not considered in advance. Given the sacrifice he was making on her behalf, she wouldn’t begrudge him whatever he needed in order to walk into the lion’s den as equipped as possible.

“My parents and I came to the UK in 1931,” she told him. “I was ten, and my mother was expecting my brother, Leo.”

“They came here at your grandfather’s behest, correct? Because your uncle had passed?”

“That’s right,” she affirmed. “Father and George were estranged, because my father went against his wishes and married my mother when they were both only eighteen. Grandma Ruth was ill, and they wanted to be married before she died, so she could witness the ceremony. After she died, Grandpa George and Uncle James moved here and began buying up estates war ravaged families could no longer afford to keep running. As you know, he’s made quite a name for himself.”

“Aye,” Killian remarked on a sigh, and Emma’s stomach churned with guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, halting their steps beneath the sprawling branches of one of the orchard trees. “I should have told you who I was sooner. I just…” she worried her lip before peering up at him, her breath hitching at the soft look of understanding in his forget-me-not eyes. “I was afraid. I never even told Neal who I really was, because I thought my family name would scare him off.” She dipped her head and angrily muttered, “Which probably would have, now I know what a coward he is.”

Killian’s calloused fingers slipped beneath her chin, sending a ripple of something she knew she shouldn’t be feeling down her spine. With gentle pressure, he urged her to look up at him once more.

“I won’t pretend I wasn’t already nervous at the prospect of pulling one over on your family. Or that knowing you're a Nolan, and your family has the means to track me down and have me killed without anyone being the wiser doesn’t raise my anxieties to that of harrowing levels, but,” he dropped her suitcase and took her hands in his when he spied the glimmer of tears pooling in her guilt-stricken eyes. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be, and nothing more pressing than making sure you’re cared for. I told you, love. I’m in this for the long haul, and I meant it.”

Emma’s gaze flickered between his earnest eyes, the tender caress of his fingertips over her knuckles and his brother’s ring sending a current up her arms that had the fine hairs standing on end. “Why are you doing this, Killian?” she exhaled. “Why are you helping me?”

The distinct sound of a cocking shotgun snapped them to attention, and the warning shot that followed had Killian forcing Emma to the ground, his body halfway sprawled across hers in an effort to protect her.

“Don't shoot!” Killian called out. “We’re unarmed!”

“But you _are_ trespassing,” a voice accused, cocking the shotgun a second time.

“Dad! It’s me!” Emma shouted, exasperatedly. All of her frustrations at her father’s zealousness evaporated when she caught sight of Killian’s face. His eyes were clamped shut and his entire body was rigid. Lifting her hand to graze against his cheek, her heart broke at the terror she saw when his eyes flew open. She’d seen that faraway look in other men’s eyes during her service; the look of one who had witnessed too much horror, too many atrocities, and had experienced too much loss.

The shuffling sounds of approaching boots helped clear his vision. A brief expression of embarrassment flittered over his features before they both turned their attention to the worn Wellingtons that had stopped right in front of them. In tandem, their gazes lifted upwards, taking in the sight of her father, a shotgun cradled in his arms with a hard look of inquiry staring down at them.

“Hello, Daddy,” Emma greeted with a slightly forced smile and equally forced tone of cheer.

Her father’s brow quirked and his gaze shifted to Killian, who offered up his own greeting with a respectful sounding, “Mr. Nolan, sir.”

A moment’s silence passed over the three of them until her father uttered, with a hint of menace, “Would you mind removing yourself from my daughter, and telling me who the hell you are?”

~/~

Emma knew her and Killian’s arrival, as well as the announcement of their engagement would come as shock, especially to her father, but she never expected a reaction like this.

“Mary Margaret!” he bellowed as soon as he hit the threshold of the manor house, marching his way into the drawing room and straight to the decanters on the beverage cart.

“Dad, please,” Emma sighed. “We can talk about this calmly.”

“Calmly?” her father chided. “You show up without warning, without so much as the courtesy of letting your mother and I know you are well and headed home from the war front, denying us the opportunity to collect you from the train station ourselves, only so I can find you cavorting with some man in the middle of our orchards, and you expect me to be calm?!”

“Cavorting in the orchards?” her mother’s voice rang out from the doorway, sounding scandalized.

“We were not cavorting,” Emma argued. “You shot at us. Killian was only trying to protect me. And he isn’t _some man_ , he’s my _fiance_ , as I’ve already explained.”

“Fiance!” her mother exclaimed again.

“Killian Jones,” she heard Killian introduce. “A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Nolan.”

“Likewise,” her mother responded, in polite instinctual fashion.

“No,” her father protested, slamming down the decanter. “Not likewise. There is no likewise.”

“David,” Emma’s mother admonished. “I understand you’ve suffered something of a shock, I dare say we all have, but now really is not the time for such displays.” Her mother crossed the room and gathered Emma into her arms. “Our daughter is home at last,” she sniffled, and Emma could feel the burn of her own tears welling in her eyes. “Can we not have a moment’s celebration over the fact the war is over and our family is together again?”

“But Maggie.” His objection was cut off by a withering look from his wife who had begun to lead both Emma and Killian to the seating area in front of the fireplace. Throwing back the contents of the glass he’d poured himself, David made his way over but refused to sit, choosing instead to stand over his wife’s shoulder where he could scowl down at the man sat beside his only daughter.

“You’ll have to forgive my husband,” Emma’s mother beseeched Killian. “He doesn’t do well with surprises and well…”

“We apologize for the shock,” Killian replied, his eyes darting up to her father’s every few seconds. “Emma was so excited to get home to you, and we’ve been so eager to share the news, that I don’t think either of us realized how much of a surprise it would be.”

“It’s just,” her mother began again with all her focus set upon Emma, “you never even mentioned having met someone in your letters.”

Emma wet her lips and swallowed past the nervous lump taking residence in her throat. The moment of truth had come. Perhaps sensing her nerves, Killian reached over and covered her hand with his own. An action that had her father’s scowl deepening.

“It’s all happened rather fast,” Emma began. “We met a few months ago at a canteen dance while Killian was on leave. He’s, uh… a captain in the navy.”

Emma felt Killian tense as he rushed to clarify, “Though, I was only a lieutenant at the time we met.”

“Right.” Her eyes sought his, and her pulse quickened at the encouragement and solidarity she saw within them. “We spent some time together while he was ashore, and neither of us wanted to part ways when his leave was up, so we began exchanging letters.”

“Naturally, communication wasn’t always reliable,” Killian jumped in again. “There were times when weeks would go by without word, even though I knew we were both writing a letter a day to one another. Just as the war ended, I received a parcel of several days’ worth of letters. I confess to have been rather… put out by the situation and distance between us. I know it wasn’t exactly proper, but the war has taught me that life’s too short to waste on propriety, so I wrote her back with a simple request.” Killian’s eyes met hers once more and a flurry erupted in Emma’s belly. “I asked, if she felt for me what I felt for her, would she meet me on a certain train platform, at a certain time when I knew we would both be making our way back to our respective homes. When she did, I got down on one knee and proposed.”

“And I said yes!” Emma finished for him, pulling her gaze away and holding out her hand to show off the ring.

Her mother took hold of her hand to see it for herself, and let go a reverent sigh. “It’s lovely.”

“I know it isn’t traditional,” Killian stated. “It was my brother’s, and all I had to offer her at the time.” Emma glanced over at him when she felt him squeeze her hand. “I’ll get you a proper one after we’re married. I promise.”

Emma had to remind herself it was all part of the act, but the solemness of his vow still took her breath away. “You’ll do no such thing,” she countered, earning her a brief flash of confusion from him, seeing as such a response had not been part of their discussions. Pulling her hand back from her mother, she peered down at the deep, red stone then back at Killian’s face and confessed, “I love this one. I don’t want another.”

Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed and a shy, tentative smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Well,” her mother said, causing them to tear their eyes away from each other. “I think it’s lovely, too. But if you change your mind, there will be plenty of time to find another before the wedding.”

“Now hold on,” her father challenged, “Who said anything about a wed--”

“Actually,” Emma interjected, “Killian and I don’t want a lengthy engagement. We’d like to get married as soon as possible.” She turned back to him so she wouldn’t have to watch her father’s face grow any more mottled. “This weekend would suit us just fine.”

“This weekend?” her father roared, stepping around her mother’s chair.

Emma stood and held her ground, going toe-to-toe with her father who she’d never seen so furious.

“I absolutely forbid it!”

“Fine,” Emma relented calmly, tugging at Killian’s hand, which she’d never let go of. “Then I guess we’ll be taking our leave and getting married as soon as we reach Killian’s home.”

She couldn’t blame Killian for his sputtering, she had thoroughly gone off book, but hadn’t anticipated this level of stubbornness from her father who usually doted on her every whim.

“Emma, love,” Killian muttered, pulling her to a halt. “I don’t have enough funds to see us _both_ all the way to my home,” he admitted with a reddish tint heating the tips of his ears.

Her father all but crowed at that concession. “A-ha! So that’s your angle,” he accused. “Your only interest in my daughter is for her money, _that’s_ why you’re eager for a quick wedding.”

Emma dropped Killian’s hand and spun around, furious. “I will have you know,” she shot back, “Killian didn’t even know my real name until _after_ he placed this ring on my finger, and _I_ am the one who is insisting we marry quickly.”

“But why, Emma?” her mother asked, joining them. “What’s the rush?”

Killian stepped up to Emma’s side and slipped an arm around her waist, silently conveying his reassurances he was still there and willing to see the plan through. Emma reciprocated, wrapping her arms around Killian and placing a hand on his chest, right over his heart, allowing its gentle rhythm to strengthen her.

“We love each other,” she breathed out. “We don’t want to wait. Like Killian said, the war taught us that life is too short, and we don’t want to waste a second. We want to start our future now.”

“Mr. Nolan,” Killian said, extricating himself from Emma’s embrace and making his way to stand before the man. “It would mean the world to me - to us - if you would give us your blessing.”

Extending his hand, Emma knew Killian was holding his breath every bit as much as she was hers. The vein at her father’s temple continued to pulse, but he remained silent as he stared at the proffered hand. With a final clench of his jaw, he brushed past them without a word, slamming the drawing room door behind him as he left.

~/~

“I am so sorry about my dad,” Emma lamented as she led them through the winding halls of the manor. “I have never known him to be so… abrasive.

“It’s alright, Swan,” Killian assured her. “I imagine, if it were me, I’d be the same way if a strange man I knew nothing about showed up one day declaring himself my only daughter’s fiance, insisting they marry at once.”

“I doubt that,” she muttered, swinging open the door to her room and gesturing him inside.

Though she appeared at the moment to be an ally, Emma’s mother had suggested it would be best they not share a room until after the wedding, citing the fact her husband would not approve. While his accommodations were being prepared, Mrs. Nolan had offered Killian the use of Emma’s brother’s room, so he had a place in which to rest then ready himself for dinner. After depositing Emma’s suitcase on her bed, he dutifully followed her down the hall and stashed his duffle in Leo’s room, knowing it would not be in the lad’s way, seeing he was set to arrive later that evening from the end of his school term.

Emma offered to give Killian the grand tour of the manor and the surrounding estate while her mother went to work on her father’s attitude, hoping to smooth things over before they were all forced to sit down together over a meal. Killian couldn’t help but think it would only make matters easier if the man went on hating him and opposing the marriage. It would certainly lend credibility to Killian’s abandonment when the time came, yet he could not deny there was a piece of him that fervently wished for the man’s acceptance and blessing, even as he told himself it was for Emma’s sake and not his own.

“How many estates does your father manage for your grandfather?” Killian asked as they strolled through the garden.

“Just this one,” Emma answered. “Over the years he’s sold off most of the other lands he acquired, charging a premium. Now, there’s just the house in London and Misthaven Estate, though he does have other properties in America and some in other countries as well.”

“Does he spend much time here?”

“You mean, are you likely to have to face him before this is all over with?”

Killian chuckled at the way she knowingly read into his question.

“I suppose it would be too much to hope for that he _won’t_ pay us a visit once word gets out about our marriage,” she sighed.

“If your father ever agrees to it,” Killian pointed out. “Any ideas on what’s to be done if he refuses?”

Emma stopped and sank down onto one of the garden benches, wringing her hands in her lap. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but…” Killian sat down beside her and took her hand, an action that was quickly becoming second nature to him. “If he doesn’t come around, we’ll just have to get married without his blessing. I’m twenty-four, it’s not like he can actually forbid it, I just…”

“You don’t want to hurt him anymore than you know he already will be once I’ve gone and the truth of your condition is revealed,” Killian finished.

Emma nodded then stood once more. Swaying slightly, her hand grabbed onto Killian’s shoulder in an attempt to steady herself.

“Swan? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said, looking a bit green. “I think I might need to go lie down for a bit, though.”

Killian stood and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, steering her back to the house.

“Let’s get you settled then, love.”

Once safely back to her room, Killian suggested she rest until they were called for dinner, waving off her concerns about leaving him alone. Before he made it back to Leo’s room, a liveried young man approached, notifying him that his things had been moved to the room Mr. Nolan had the servants prepare for his use. Killian followed the man up another flight of stairs and down a long corridor that looked as though it hadn’t seen use in quite some time.

“Pardon me, but where exactly are you taking me?”

“This part of the house used to be reserved for staff,” the footman explained. “The Nolans have not employed a full contingent of servants in years, so this area of the house, unneeded, now sits empty.”

Killian huffed and rolled his eyes. The man certainly wasn’t pulling any punches, making it perfectly clear how he viewed his daughter’s would-be husband. Well, Killian always did like a challenge. The man was going to have to do better than this to throw him off his game. Before the young man departed, Killian requested a fresh shaving kit and basin of hot water be brought up, (seeing as how the lavatory on this level was not plumbed like the rest of the house) and requested his uniform jacket and pants be pressed for dinner. Once the man was on his way with uniform in hand, Killian regrouped and set himself to the task of winning over Emma’s father.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

Freshly shaven and expertly pressed, Killian made his way downstairs for dinner and found Emma waiting for him, nervously pacing in the entryway. He paused for a moment to take her in, and to try and recapture the breath that had left him upon seeing her clothed in a jewel toned dress of deep green satin that hugged her curves in a way he found much too enticing. Her hair was smartly pinned back, but a soft wave flowing from her temple to a spot just behind her ear had started to slip from its fastening. Killian knew he would be tucking the wayward section back in place at some point during the evening, and his fingertips itched at the prospect of feeling those silky strands.

When her steps faltered, having realized he was watching her from the landing above, Killian shook off his musings and made his way down to her. Her lips were slightly parted as her eyes swept over his face, her brows pinching together in dissatisfaction.

“What is it, love?” he asked, anxiously. “Is something amiss?” Reaching up, he brushed a hand over his jawline. “Have I missed a spot?”

She caught him off guard when she reached up and ran her hand over the smooth surface of his face, his lungs once again seizing up and making it impossible for him to draw in a much needed breath.

“I rather think I preferred the scruff,” she told him, her eyes latching onto his and her hand still cupping his cheek. “You should consider growing a beard. Stubble suits you.”

“As you wish,” he replied on a soft exhale.

A shy smile began pulling at her lips, and a blush tinted her cheeks as self-consciousness overtook her, causing her to draw her hand away. Before he could apologize for making her uncomfortable with his retort, a voice called out from above, capturing their joint attention.

“Well as I live and breathe! If it ain’t my big sister, home from the war!”

A lanky young man bounded down the stairs and scooped Emma up off her feet, spinning her around in a tight hug as peals of laughter rang out through the hallway.

“Baby brother!” Emma cooed, reaching up and pinching the lad’s cheeks after he’d steadied her back on her feet. “How are you?”

Her brother pulled away, grousing petulantly. “Seriously, Ems? I’m taller than you now. Quit it with the _baby_.”

Killian chuckled, earning him tandemly raised brows from the siblings.

“What’s so funny?” Emma asked, crossing her arms over her chest and peering up at him with a challenging smirk.

“Nothing, it’s just…” His words trailed off as a hint of melancholy unexpectedly settled over him. “My brother used to razz me in much the same way,” he told them, ducking his head while he composed himself, so he wouldn’t cast a pall over the moment. “He would insist on calling me _little brother_ when he knew full well I preferred _younger_.” Looking back up at Emma’s brother, he advised, “Best get used to it, lad. It’s an older sibling’s prerogative to take the mickey out of us. Just as it’s ours to be a right pain in their arse,” he cheeked, giving the lad a wink.

Emma’s brother laughed heartily and extended his hand towards Killian. “Leo Nolan. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

Killian shook Leo’s hand, but it was Emma who supplied the introduction.

“Leo, allow me to introduce Killian Jones… my fiance.”

Leo’s eyes widened and he shook Killian’s hand a bit more enthusiastically before letting go. “So the rumors are true? A wedding really is in the works?”

“What rumors?” Emma demanded. “You’ve been home for all of ten minutes. How did you--”

“You know how the servants love their gossip,” Leo answered with a shrug of his shoulders and wide grin. “So, you’re really getting hitched, huh? When?”

“As soon as your father agrees to it,” Killian replied.

“Good luck with that,” Leo snorted with a dubious expression, earning him a punch in the arm from Swan. “Hey!” he cried out, rubbing his now sore shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m on your side. I personally think Emma Jones has a nice ring to it.”

In spite of himself, Killian had to admit… he did, too.

“Then I expect your full allegiance when we get in there,” Emma told him, nodding her head towards the dining room. “If Dad’s interrogations start to get rough, I’m counting on you to run interference, got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Leo replied with a mock salute before turning on his heel and marching towards the dining room.

Killian watched the lad go with fondness then felt Emma thread her arm into the crook of his elbow. Glancing down, he noted the way she chewed her lip in nervous anticipation, so he covered her hand with his own and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Ready, love?” he encouraged with a fortifying breath.

“I should be asking you that,” she quipped under her breath, prompting them forward. “If we’re lucky, you’ll have time for a stiff drink before my parents arrive.”

“Aye,” he concurred, then commiserated in a hushed tone. “I’m sorry you aren’t able to partake of one yourself.”

“Are you kidding?” she lightly scoffed, pouring him a glass of something from one of the decanters on the bar cart. “I’ll be lucky if I make it through dinner without the need to retch.”

Killian was about to ask if she was feeling poorly, scrutinizing her face for any sign of queasiness, when Mr. and Mrs. Nolan entered the dining room, enthusiastically greeting Leo.

“My dear boy!” Mrs. Nolan cooed in similar fashion to the way Emma had greeted him earlier, though he was more tolerant of her than he had been of his sister.

“You’re looking well, son,” Mr. Nolan stated with a tone of affection Killian had yet to hear from the man, and had begun to wonder if he was capable of such an inflection.

Leo greeted them brightly, giving his mother a hug and his father a hearty handshake before the couple turned their attention to Killian and Emma.

“Emma, dear, that color is so fetching on you,” her mother praised. “Don’t you think so, Killian?”

“Aye,” he agreed, casting a smile Emma’s way, its spread faltering a bit when he heard Mr. Nolan’s harshly remarked inquiry.

“You’re still here, are you?” 

Emma’s head snapped up at her father, her jaw dropping incredulously. “Dad!”

“It’s alright, love,” Killian said in an attempt to diffuse the tension.

“No, it most certainly is not,” Mrs. Nolan admonished, rounding on her husband. “If you cannot find it within yourself to be civil, then you will find yourself dining alone.” Leaning in, she whispered into his ear, but her fervor carried more volume than she probably had intended. “Remember what we talked about, and behave yourself.”

“You expect me to be civil while he’s over there plundering my best scotch?”

“Killian isn’t a pirate, dad,” Emma sassed. “He’s a captain in the Royal Navy.”

“He’s a seadog,” David countered, “That makes him enough of a pirate in my book.”

“You’ll have to excuse Dad,” Leo told Killian in a mocked whisper. “He’s a bit of a landlubber.”

“All I’m saying,” Mr. Nolan continued, “Is that Emma comes from a long line of people who have toiled and nurtured the ground beneath their feet. People who worked the land and took pride in the literal fruits of their labors, leaving a legacy for the next generation as those lands passed between father and son. What sort of legacy does the sea give you, huh?”

Out of the corner of his eye Killian saw Emma roll her eyes, a hard _tsk_ slapping against her tongue. “You don’t have to dignify that with a response, Killian.”

Killian felt Mr. Nolan’s challenging stare bore into him as the man braced his hands on his hips, awaiting a reply.

“Actually,” Killian responded, firmly meeting the man’s gaze. “I believe I do.” Stepping forward, Killian swirled the scotch in his glass and lifted it to his lips, taking a strong pull before replying. “It is true, Mr. Nolan, that the sea can be a fickle mistress, who only the foolish would attempt to tame, but a life spent in her service is not one without reward. Like your precious soil, she demands our labors and a solid work ethic as well. A life on the sea is one that requires discipline, resilience, and versatility when conditions change at a moment’s notice. And while, yes, the sea cannot be owned and passed down in the same way a parcel of land can, it does provide a different sort of legacy one can bequeath to one’s offspring.”

“And what’s that?” Mr. Nolan asked, refusing to give away any indication that he might have been impressed by Killian’s response thus far.

“A legacy of adventure and exploration,” Killian answered. “A promise of freedom and the ability to make one’s own way in the world.”

Mr. Nolan’s tongue ran over the front of his teeth as he considered Killian’s words, though he was clearly still unwilling to give up any ground on the matter. Killian’s gaze dropped down to Emma’s when he felt her arms circle his waist, a proud, awed expression shining from their green depths, making his heart flutter wildly. 

“Well,” Mrs. Nolan commented, forcing them to tear their gaze from one another. “On that note, why don’t we all take our seats.”

Gesturing Killian and Emma to the seats opposite her own, Mrs. Nolan sank into the chair on her husband’s right hand side, thanking Leo for pulling it out for her. Mr. Nolan took his place at the head of the table, while Leo sat on his mother’s other side. Pulling out the chair on her father’s left, Killian deviously whispered into Emma’s ear as she gracefully lowered herself onto the cushioned seat.

“I’m winning him over, I can feel it.” 

Based on the steely flick of Mr. Nolan’s eyes and the clench of his jaw, Killian’s cheek had not gone unheard by the man. Killian cleared his throat and took his own seat, his hand seeking out Emma’s beneath the table as her father continued to stare him down. She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze as her mother rang a small bell that had been left at her place setting, notifying the servants they were ready for the meal. As the first course was served Killian was certain Emma wouldn’t be the only one tempted to lose the contents of their stomach before the night was over.

~/~

With each course that passed in front of her, Emma rigidly held her breath until she was sure the offering would not cause an upheaval to her stomach. In addition to the morning sickness - which she had learned early on was a total misnomer - her frayed nerves also had her gut churning, especially whenever her father opened his mouth. Fortunately, Leo had stepped in as soon as they’d all sat down, and the conversation had been focused on his studies for the first two courses.

It was a shame he wasn’t taking more classes.

“So, Killian,” her mother began as the third course was placed in front of them. “You spoke so passionately about the sea earlier. Tell us, why did you choose the navy?”

Emma wanted to groan at her mother. She really didn’t want another discourse of _by land or by sea_ between Killian and her father. However, rather than express her disgruntlement, she politely waited for Killian to swallow down the bite he’d taken (and his nerves, most likely), so he could respond to her mother’s inquiry.

“It was because of my brother,” he replied. “Well, him and our upbringing. We were both raised by the sea, so it seemed a natural choice for us.”

“I see,” her mother said, daintily cutting her meat. “Why military service, though? Were you and your brother drafted?”

“No. We were already enlisted when the war broke out,” he informed her. “It was the best option for us once I came of age.”

“Were your parents not able to support any academic pursuits for you or your brother?” her father questioned with a hint of antagonism that had Emma gripping her fork a bit tighter.

“Actually, uh…” Killian hesitated, taking a sip of water before responding. “Our mother died when Liam and I were both young.”

“What about your father?” 

Emma slid a hand onto Killian’s thigh, sensing he might need the added bit of comfort when he admitted…

“He wasn’t around much after my mother died, and he disappeared from our lives completely when Liam came of age.”

Her father slammed his cutlery down onto his plate with a jarring clang that made Emma flinched in her seat.

“And this is who you’ve decided to tie your life to?” he sniped at Emma. “A man with such a poor example for a father? What sort of husband or father will he be when his wasn’t around to properly demonstrate--”

“My brother was around,” Killian cut in sharply. “And he was the finest of men, if ever there was one. He took over our father’s position at the docks and worked relentlessly to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. He waited until I came of age before enlisting, and ensured my success by seeing I had a proper education and strong work ethic. He instilled in me a sense of good form, and _he_ is the example I strive to live up to.”

“And what does your brother have to say about this whirlwind, romantic notion of marrying a woman you’ve only known a few months, hm?” her father laid into him. “Why isn’t he here now to help me talk some sense into the two of you?”

Emma felt a tremble begin to take hold of Killian, saw his fists clench and release as his eyes slammed shut and his breathing shallowed. Moving her hand from his leg up to his shoulder, Emma tried to coax his eyes to hers while her family looked on with a mixture of expressions.

“Killian?” she murmured softly, squeezing his shoulder with equally tender pressure.

For a second time, Emma flinched in her seat as Killian abruptly stood, sweeping a hand through his hair and grasping onto the wisps along the back.

“My apologies, Mrs. Nolan,” Killian offered. A tone of disgrace underscored his words, making Emma’s heart break for him. “Thank you for the lovely meal, but I… Excuse me.”

With as much dignity as he could muster, Killian walked out the dining room, his face pale and skin visibly clammy. 

“Killian, wait!” Emma called out, getting up from her seat with the intent to follow.

“Let him go,” her father advised solemnly, grabbing onto her arm to stop her from going after him.

Wrenching her arm out of her father’s grasp she seethed down at him, not at all placated by his look of contrition. “You want to know why Killian’s brother isn’t here right now, Dad? Because he’s dead, that’s why.” Her father actually blanched at her words and tone. “He died during the war, leaving Killian completely alone.”

“I didn’t know,” he mumbled, thoroughly abashed.

“Well, now you do,” she clipped, marching past him towards the dining room door. “And I hope you’re happy with yourself,” she accused before slamming the door behind her.

Emma continued to fume all the way up to Killian’s room, angered further at the lodgings her father had bestowed upon him. She was practically shaking with fury when she reached his door, knocking a tad harder than she’d intended to.

“Killian?” she called out, trying to keep the ire out of her voice. After all, it wasn’t him she was mad at. If anything, he had every right to be angry with her for putting him through this farce. “Killian, are you in there?” 

“Aye, love,” he answered shakily. His voice was muffled, but given how clearly she’d heard it she deduced he was just on the other side of the door. 

“Killian, I am so sorry. Are you alri--”

“I’m fine, Swan,” he replied, sounding anything but. “I just need… please, you needn’t worry about me. You should rest. Dinner was taxing for all of us, and you… I’ll see you in the morning, love.”

“Are you sure?” She reached down to try the doorknob, but it only rattled in her hand, securely locked.

“Please, Emma,” he strained out on a broken breath. “Please just go.”

“Alright,” she whispered out on a quiet sob, her throat having grown tight from the frustration and compassion warring within her. “But if you need anything…”

She left the offer hanging, hoping he would know she meant it, and made her way back down to her room. Both her mother and Leo tried to engage with her, but she brushed them off, telling them Killian was fine and that she’d decided to turn in early. Once in her room, with her door firmly shut, she yanked her suitcase down from where she’d stored it atop her wardrobe not but a few hours earlier, and began filling it. She wasn’t quite sure yet about where she would go, or what she would do once she got there, but she was sure that both she and Killian were going to be on the first train out of there come morning.

~/~

Killian groaned at the pounding on his door which reverberated in his skull the next morning. Or was it morning? Prying his eyes open, he saw only darkness. Blinking away the haze of sleep, he grabbed the clock from his nightstand and groaned again.

“Bugger off! It’s four in the bleedin’ morning!”

“I thought you sailors typically got up before the sun,” Mr. Nolan’s voice taunted from the other side of the door.

Killian rolled out of bed, unlocked the door, and opened it only wide enough to glare at the man.

After a long night of contemplations, Killian had come to the decision he was done trying to win the man’s approval. That wasn’t to say he’d given up on his vow to help Emma save face with her family, but he was no longer going to do the song and dance required for her father’s blessing. Emma had made it clear the day before that if it came down to it, they would simply seek out a justice of the peace and handle the matter themselves. Besides, it wasn’t as if Killian would have to spend a lifetime with David Nolan as his disapproving father-in-law. He could manage a week or two of the man’s barbs, his episode from the previous night notwithstanding.

“Only those who are unlucky enough to pull the first watch,” he informed the man with an purposefully obnoxious yawn.

“Well, around here, our day begins before the sun.” Nolan’s posture shifted and a sort of reluctance came over him. “And since you managed to make me appreciate what _might_ be appealing about a life at sea, I thought I’d show you how rewarding a day spent tending the land could be.”

Killian’s brows pinched together, and his head cocked to one side in disbelief. “Hang on, mate. Is this you… _apologizing_ to me?”

The man gave Killian a hard look and stated, “This is me making an effort. So, get dressed and meet me out back in ten minutes.”

Tempted as he was to go back to bed, Killian couldn’t bring himself to snub Emma’s father that way, not when he was essentially extending an olive branch. Plus, Liam’s voice in the back of his subconscious, cracking on about good form, would never have allowed him to fall back asleep anyway. 

Liam probably would have been retracting those statements if he’d known Mr. Nolan’s idea of _tending the land_ meant mucking out stalls in the family stable. Although, knowing his brother, he would be laughing his arse off telling Killian he should have known better, throwing in a _little brother_ just to add insult to injury. The git.

Gods he missed his brother.

Burying thoughts of Liam before they could turn to those he worked so hard to suppress, Killian accepted the pitchfork Mr. Nolan handed him (he wasn’t about to give the man the satisfaction of backing down), and made his way into the first stall. Which was currently occupied by another man already toiling away.

“Hello there,” the man greeted. “You must be the infamous Killian Jones. August Booth,” he introduced himself. “I believe you met my father, Marco, yesterday.”

“Aye,” Killian said, shaking the man’s gloved hand with his own. “Emma’s told me quite a lot about you.”

“Believe everything she says,” August told him with a bit of bravado. “It’s all true.” Giving Killian the once over, August nodded at the pitchfork with a smirk set on his lips and asked, “Need me to give you a few pointers with that?”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear before confessing, “Aye, that would be grand.”

After a quick course in its proper handling, and few tricks of the trade demonstrated by the gregarious man, the two fell into a rhythm of work. Killian found he rather enjoyed August’s company. The man was amicable, but not too chatty, and while Killian deduced early on that his tales should be taken with a grain of salt, he also knew the man’s fabrications were meant in good fun with no intent of malice.

When they began work on their third stall Killian asked, “I know what penance I’m working off, but what did you do to get on the wrong side of Nolan that he has you cleaning out stalls before dawn?”

“Oh, I do this most mornings,” August told him, between shovel fulls. “I work for the estate as one of the stable hands.”

“Really? I was under the assumption your father owned his own business.”

“He does,” August affirmed. “But he and my mother worked for the estate before the elder Mr. Nolan bought it. I practically grew up here.” He paused, leaning against the handle of the pitchfork he’d embedded in the floor of the stable in order to catch his breath. “When Old George bought the place, he didn’t see the need for all the staff that was here, so he offered a tidy sum to those who agreed to resign their post. My mother had passed the year before, so my dad took the severance and started his own woodworking business. He always liked carving and working with different species of wood, but I…” Shrugging, he picked up the tool and threw himself back into the task.

The man had made it clear he wasn’t up to divulging anymore on the subject of why he didn’t work with his father, so Killian let the matter go and asked, instead, about whether or not August had served in the war. He had noted a slight limp in the man’s gait and silently wondered if it had perhaps been caused by a wound he’d received in battle. 

His answer came in the form of August lifting up his pant leg to expose the wooden prosthetic beneath. “An accident when I was a small boy,” he said. “I don’t even remember it happening.”

“I’m sorry,” Killian replied, though he could tell from the man’s demeanor he remembered every agonizing detail of the event.

“Don’t be.” August waved him off. “Besides, it was fitting me for my first fake leg that got my dad interested in wood carving in the first place.”

Once again, Killian sensed an emotional landmine, and was prepared to side step it when the stall door swung open and hit the post beside it with a loud thud.

“Seriously!” Swan shouted. “He has you mucking stalls?”

A wide, mischievous grin split August’s face. “Settle down, Emma. Your father just wanted to show Killian what it takes to be a man of the land like him.”

“When was the last time you ever saw my father muck a stall?” she shot back, raising her hand up to her nose to ward off the pungent aroma. “Come on, Killian,” she beckoned, already heading for the stable door, “We’re going.”

Killian gave August an apologetic look before handing off his pitchfork to the man’s already outstretched hand.

“Swan, wait!” he called out, running after her.

When he caught up to her next to the pond that sat at the center of the estate’s buildings, he lightly grasped her elbow, turning her back to him. He was alarmed to see her choking back tears.

“Emma? What’s wrong, love?”

Her feet shuffled along the ground, and for a moment he wasn’t sure she was going to answer.

“I thought… I thought you’d left,” she finally confessed in a small voice. “When I went up to your room and you weren’t there, I thought you’d changed your mind, which you would have had every right to, and I--”

“Oh, Swan,” Killian soothed, pulling her in close.

Before he could firmly lock his arms around her, she shoved him away and bolted towards a row of hedges. When he heard the beginnings of her plight, he glanced around to make sure no one was about that might see her throwing up her breakfast, then approached her tentatively.

“Don’t come any closer,” she told him, still gagging. 

“Why not?”

“Because it’s you making me sick. You positively reek!”

Killian couldn’t help the laugh that burst from his chest, earning him a withering look from a green about the gills Swan.

“It’s not funny!” she chastised, only to be cut off by another upheaval of her stomach.

“Well this certainly won’t do,” Killian muttered, now feeling rather badly for having found anything about her pitiful situation humorous. 

Not wishing to cause her any further discomfort, Killian stripped off his shirt and boots then jogged towards the pond. The splashes his feet made when he hit the water before shallowly diving in grabbed her attention, and when he surfaced, blinking the water from his eyes, her incredulous face was the first thing he saw.

“What are you doing?” she called out.

“Rinsing off the stench.”

“Are you insane? That water must be freezing!”

“It’s actually quite pleasant,” he told her, his expression turning salacious. Hoping to make her forget all about the sickness she’d just experienced, he waggled his brows and invited, “Feel free to join me, if you like.” Finishing his offer off with a wink.

He could see her blushing even from this distance as she stammered, “I-I can’t. I mean, I don’t, um… I don’t know how to swim.”

“What?” It was Killian’s turn to stare at her with incredulous eyes. 

Her blush deepened and her eyes widened before she cast them to the side as he climbed back out of the pond. Dripping wet and slightly out of breath from his dip in the, admittedly, frigid waters, Killian stood before her once more. Tucking his fingers beneath her chin, he prompted her to look at him, thankful the brisk breeze rippling gooseflesh along the length of him was keeping his ardor in check.

“I’ll just have to teach you then,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere, love. Not until you tell me to.”

Looking up at him with a mixture of emotions Killian couldn’t be sure he was identifying correctly, and knew he shouldn’t be hoping for, he’d never been more tempted to close the gap between them and claim her mouth for his own. He might have, had it not been for her father’s outraged bellow echoing across the pond.

“Have you no sense of decency! What sort of scoundrel parades around half dressed in such a condition?”

Killian sighed, fed up, and turned towards the man with an expression of indifference. “Actually, mate. I prefer dashing rapscallion.”

“Now see here--”

“No,” Killian clipped, stepping up to the man and raising himself up to full height. “I don’t believe I will. I’ve had enough, you see. You can think whatever you’d like about me, Mr. Nolan, but the fact is, I aim to marry your daughter, with or without your blessing. I’ve only put up with your disparaging remarks and disdainful looks, because I know what it means for _her_ to have your approval, and her heart’s desire is all I ever want for her. Because your daughter is amazing. _Bloody brilliant_ and amazing. She is strong, and beautiful, and special, and--.”

“I know,” David interrupted him with a sly smile pulling at his lips. “I just had to make sure _you_ knew it.” 

Killian balked and took a stunned step back. 

“I also needed to make sure you wouldn’t fold under the Nolan scrutiny,” he continued with a pointed look. “Because if you think I’m a tough sell, well... you haven’t met Emma’s Grandfather yet.”

“Dad?” Emma said, stepping up beside Killian. “Does this mean you--”

“You have my blessing,” he affirmed, holding out his hand for Killian to shake.

“Th-thank you, Mr. Nolan,” Killian stuttered, taking the proffered hand.

“Please. Call me David. Son,” he said, giving Killian a slap on the back before leaving the two of them standing together, gobsmacked.

“Did that really just happen?” Emma said, as they both watched her father walk away.

“I believe so?” Killian replied, equally bemused by the turn of events. 

A perplexity that vanished when Emma threw her arms around his neck, overjoyed that they’d succeeded in their plan. Whether it was the fact he was still drenched from the cool pond water, or her realizing there was no need for a display of affection with no one around to witness it, all too soon for his liking, Emma pulled away. 

“Sorry,” she said, clearly feeling awkward over throwing herself at him.

She really needn’t be.

Another breeze swept by, tugging at a section of her hair. Killian reached out and tucked it back behind her ear, giving her a reassuring smile. “I don’t mean to upset you, Emma. But I think we make quite the team.”

An amused huff puffed from her lungs and she rolled her eyes at him, all discomfort forgotten. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” she cautioned. “We haven’t made it to the _I do’s_ yet. There’s still my mother and her wedding binders to get past.”

Killian scrunched his brow at her. “Binders? As in plural?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

A warm glow infused the room, casting a honeyed tone upon the white satin adorning Emma’s body. She ran her hands over the smooth fabric, admiring how it accentuated her curves while still giving her the demure quality a bride should possess. It was a wonder Granny had been able to fit it to her proportions so quickly, especially given how different Emma’s body was compared to her mother’s. 

While both slender, Emma had always been more voluptuous, taking after her Grandmother Ruth. She’d doubted whether her mother’s dress would even fit her in the hips or bust (and thanked all the gods she wasn’t farther along in her pregnancy, otherwise they would have had another rounded area to contend with), but with few options, given the urgency with which Emma and Killian had expressed their desire to wed that very weekend, Mary Margaret’s dress was the best option they’d had.

Agreeing to wear it had also been the necessary compromise needed in order to get her mother to abandon the binders - and the dreams they’d represented - and get on board with Emma and Killian’s plan.

Her chest tightened over the reminder of that conversation. After her father had given his blessing, they’d wasted no time in approaching her mother about pulling together a simple wedding for them. Emma hadn’t been joking about the binders. Her mother had been compiling ideas for Emma’s wedding for as long as she could remember. And honestly, what mother hadn’t? All the grand plans, the intricate dress designs, the fashionable floral arrangements, the lavish locations were thrown to the wayside, and it broke Emma’s heart every bit as much as it had her mother’s, but they simply did not have the luxury of time to do a proper wedding.

To say nothing of the fact, Emma had no wish to put such an expense on her parents when, in reality, her marriage would not be a proper one either. 

So many dreams had to be sacrificed, and all because Emma was in a shameful state she could not bear to reveal to her parents. Tears had pricked her eyes numerous times over the past day and half. After all, they weren’t just her mother’s dreams. Emma had dreamed of this day all her life, and never once thought she’d be standing in her old bedroom (a larger one was being readied for her and Killian to share as husband and wife), looking herself over in her dressing mirror, wearing her mother’s wedding gown, pregnant, about to be falsely wed to a man who was not the father, on the grounds of her family’s estate instead of a church with only her family and their staff in attendance.

There would be no string quartet or organ announcing her arrival, then serenading her procession towards the altar. No pews filled with the societal elite to _ooh_ and _ahh_ her gown, which would have been custom made for her from the finest silks and satins. No lavish dinner or resplendent reception, overflowing with spirits and merriment as her guests danced the night away. There would be no toasts, no father-daughter dance, no bouquet toss, just a simple gathering over cake and champagne to commemorate the moment before she and Killian would retire to their room for a private meal and their wedding night.

_Not even a real wedding night_ , Emma thought to herself. Because she didn’t even have a real groom. 

Treacherous tears burned behind her eyelids, and she swallowed down the unsettling feeling rising from her churning stomach. Pressing a hand to her belly, Emma inhaled deeply then steadily blew out the breath as she ran her palm over her abdomen. This petulant melancholy was of no use to her now. The damage was done. She’d foregone the traditional route, choosing a lover rather than a groom, a night of lust and scandal rather than one of true intimacy. She’d made her bed, and now she had to lie in it. At least she had someone willing to lie down in it next to her, even if it was only figuratively and not literally. 

Although, she wouldn’t be opposed to sharing it in the literal regard with Killian. 

More and more she found herself increasingly drawn to him, seeking out the comfort of his touch and flushing under the intensity of his attention. There was no mistaking the attraction between them, but it would only make things more complicated should they fall into temptation. Despite his assurances to the contrary, Emma knew Killian had a life to get back to; one he’d been planning for himself as a source of hope to help him get through the war. Though he hadn’t shared exactly what those plans were, she knew most soldiers had them and expected sailors would have been no different.

There was also the small matter of her being knocked up by someone else. It was one thing to stand in the gap to help her diffuse a potential scandal, knowing the situation was only temporary. Choosing to engage in a potential romance with a woman carrying another man’s child was an entirely different matter altogether. It was easy to forget she was spoiled goods when the evidence had yet to make itself known in the physical changes that would soon arrive, but once they did... 

No. She couldn’t even bring herself to think about it, couldn’t bear to have her heart broken again like that. 

She was grateful for all Killian had done and was still willing to do for her, and she wouldn’t take advantage or put them in a position of potential hurt feelings and needless pain when the time came for him to leave. Because he _would_ leave, sooner rather than later. A couple of weeks tops. It was the deal they had made, and she would make sure they stuck to it.

They just had to get married first.

A gentle knock on her door preceded the entrance of her father, his eyes widening with a hint of fatherly somber upon seeing his little girl dressed and veiled all in white.

“Emma,” he exhaled, awe and wonder shining from his face. “You look beautiful sweetheart.”

Emma blinked back tears and swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“I have to say,” he stated, approaching her. “Granny is something of a miracle worker.”

Running her hands down the sides of the dress with her gaze focused on their path, Emma said, “I don’t know how she managed to get it so perfect, but I’m glad she was able to pull it off.”

She lifted her gaze and met her father’s, a thousand emotions swirling in his eyes as he took her in. “Don’t tell you mother I said this,” he whispered. “But you might look even better in it than she did.”

A giggle passed her lips. “Might?”

“Well,” he hedged, teasingly. “To me, she _has_ always been the fairest of them all… but you are a very close second.” Kissing her on the forehead, he took a deep breath in and asked, “Are you ready?” 

Not trusting her voice, Emma nodded and picked up her bouquet from where it rested on her vanity. Turning back to David, she let him cover her face with her veil before accepting his arm so he could escort her down to the gazebo by the pond. 

The walk had to have been the longest of her life, with fresh turmoil raging within her. Was she really doing this? Was she really about to go through with this farce? Could she really marry a man, _actually_ marry him, just so she could legitimize her child, whilst making him out to be the villain when he had done nothing to contribute to the trouble she was in?

By the time they arrived at the path that led around the pond and up to the gazebo where her mother, brother, the staff, and Killian were all awaiting her, Emma almost had herself talked out of it. But then… she saw him.

Or more to the point, she saw him seeing her.

His eyes had been cast down towards his nervously shuffling feet, but the soft reactions and gasps of those gathered had pulled his gaze upward. He went completely still when his eyes landed on her, slowly trailing up her form until they reached her shrouded face. Lips parted, and sticking a bit at the corners, he continued to stare at her so intently Emma almost missed the jesting comment from her father about it not being too late to turn back. When he finally remembered to breathe, he licked his lips and straightened his posture, bringing himself to full height as a smile bloomed upon his face.

Emma didn’t hear the opening words of the Reverend, focused as she was on _her groom_. It wasn’t until she heard her father clearly announce _her mother and I do_ , in response to the question of who was giving the bride away that Emma tore her eyes from Killian so she could face her father. Lifting her veil up and over her head, David leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, making her chest tighten once more. She held her breath to try and ward off tears when he shook Killian’s hand before placing hers within its calloused grasp. 

After her father took her bouquet and joined her mother, Killian assisted Emma up the three steps of the gazebo opening, placing them both before the Reverend. Taking her other hand in his, Killian’s eyes bounced between hers with awe radiating from those forget-me-not depths.

“You look stunning, Swan.”

All Emma could do was smile appreciatively up at him, the words caught in her throat and threatening to release the emotion lying in wait just behind their utterance. The gentle caress of his thumbs running over her knuckles helped to calm the racing of her heart, but she still couldn’t quite keep her focus on the minister. It was a good thing Killian seemed able to keep his wits about him, considering the groom cited his vows first. However, when that moment came, with the dulcet timbre of his baritone pledging to love, honor, and cherish her for better or worse, Emma had to remind herself a dozen times that none of this was real.

Or was it?

Not the love and til death do us part vows, but some of the others… he had already proven himself dependable on those promises. During the worst of her father’s tests, the sickness she’d been battling from the pregnancy, and the disparity between his means and hers, Killian had vowed to stay by her side, from this day forward, until such a time they both felt it right to go their separate ways. These vows may not symbolize for them what they did for other brides and grooms, but the earnestness with which Killian recited them, and the sincerity with which Emma echoed back when her turn came made them no less binding in regards to the agreement they had made on the train mere days ago. 

This pragmatic distinction did not keep a tremor of nerves from manifesting when the Reverend asked Emma to take the ring, already blessed by the clergy, and place it on Killian’s hand. It was a wonder she’d been able to slip the band - which had been her Grandfather Leo’s - on his thick ring finger, given how much her hand had shook. Thankfully, Killian’s hand was much more steady, re-enacting the moment he’d first placed his brother’s ring on her hand, right down to the soft kiss he brushed over the back of her hand once it was secured upon her finger.

All the air rushed from her lungs and she barely had enough breath to confirm her _I do_ before her knees went weak at the prospect of having to kiss her groom. How had she forgotten that particular detail? Killian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as the minister declared them husband and wife and directed him to kiss his bride. Running his tongue nervously over his lips, he hesitantly brought his hand up to her face, his fingers grazing the side of her neck while the pad of his thumb caressed the apple of her cheek, and leaned forward. His eyes stayed fixed on hers until his lids fell shut when she raised up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway.

The well wishing, celebratory cheers from their assembly fell away the moment her lips touched his. What was initially meant to be a soft graze, intended to seal the moment and satisfy tradition, instanting became something much, much more. The soft, supple quality of Killian’s lips evolved into a firm declaration sliding against her own, the friction of which ignited a suppressed spark, electrifying Emma’s body. Though the contact lasted only a scant few seconds, a smouldering remained, sizzling between them as they both released a shaky breath before affixing their pretenses back into place.

“It is my honor to present Mr. and Mrs. Killian Jones,” the Reverend announced.

“Ready, love?” Killian whispered down to her, placing her arm into the crook of his.

_Nope_ , Emma thought as her mother could no longer be contained and rushed forward to gather them both up in a tight hug of congratulations.

~/~

One foot in front of the other. That was all Killian could focus on. One foot in front of the other as he made his way down the long corridor to his and Emma’s new accommodations. His _wife_ softly padded beside him, her hand tucked securely in his while her family and a few of the staff she considered friends followed behind, giggling and smiling as they watched the nervous couple retreat towards their wedding night.

Killian could practically feel Emma’s racing pulse keeping time with his own from where their hands were joined. Could see her worrying her lip out of the corner of his eye as a flush rose from the delicate lace at her decolletage the closer they got to the door. They both knew what the assembly had gathered for; they wanted to see the groom carry his bride over the threshold. With so few traditional elements for them to witness, Killian couldn’t find it within himself to begrudge them such a simple bit of entertainment, but it did not make the prospect of having to engage in yet another bit of duplicity any easier for him to stomach.

Even if he was eager to have a legitimate reason to hold Emma in his arms.

Swinging the door open, Killian glanced over his shoulder at the myriad of expressions behind him. Mary Margaret looked positively giddy, with a glitter of emotion shimmering in her eyes. Leo and August were already preparing the teasing remarks Killian knew they’d unleash on both him and Emma come morning. Marco looked a tad uncomfortable, clearly still overcome by the invitation to bear witness to the ceremony in the first place. A few maids, whose names Killian had yet to learn, twittered away with blushes coloring their cheeks while Granny attempted to smother a smile as she quietly admonished them. And David… well, let’s just say his stern look and tightly crossed arms almost had Killian wanting to assure him nothing of an intimate nature would be happening once the door was closed, lest he continue to think of a way to dispose of Killian’s body.

Swallowing heavily, Killian turned to Emma and met her anxious expression with a soft, hopefully reassuring smile. Not wishing to prolong either of their torment any further, he bent down and grasped her behind the knees with one arm while wrapping the other behind her back. A surprised gasp vocalized from the back of her throat as she threw an arm around his neck, hanging onto him for dear life while their entourage cheered, and offered up suggestively laden _good nights_. Another round of cheers and a few peals of laughter muffled their way through the door after Killian kicked it closed behind them, pulling more genuine smiles and a rumble of chuckles from the pair of them as well.

Looking down at the beautiful woman cradled in his arms, beaming up at him with a smile he now knew she did not tend to offer freely, Killian had to give himself a stern reminder that despite the vows, the rings, the buzzing attraction between them, and the performance they had given to her friends and family that evening, it was all just that. A performance. A lie. A fabrication. She was not truly his, and he had no business wishing the circumstances to be any different than what they were.

Her smile began to fade when reality set in, and Killian gently placed her back on her feet, his hands lingering at her waist, ensuring she was stable before reluctantly pulling them away.

“Shall we, uh… shall we see what Granny and your mother had the kitchen prepare for us?” Killian asked, walking over to the cozy table for two that had been set up in their room.

“I’m not really very hungry,” Emma answered, softly. She laid her bouquet on the foot of the bed and slowly sank down beside it, her hands wringing in her lap.

The insistence that she eat died on his tongue when Killian took in the large bed, a rush of heat flaming at his cheeks when he remembered Emma’s mother’s statement about their need for something with more room to maneuver in as they picked through the surplus furniture within the attic, looking for pieces to adorn their marital room. A small sniffle snapped Killian’s focus back onto his, er… Swan, and his brows furrowed in concern at the glimpse of tears threatening to spill from her lashes.

“Emma?” Kneeling before her, Killian placed a hand over hers. “Darling, what is it?”

The endearment only seemed to make matters worse as her composure crumpled completely, pitching her forward as Killian rose and gathered her into his arms, settling them both back onto the foot of the bed as he rocked her and gently stroked her back.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed into his chest. “I’m being stupid.”

Resting his cheek against the crown of her head, Killian tightened his hold and soothed into her hair, “No, love. You’re not being stupid. You’re grieving. There is no shame in mourning the plans you had to set aside today. But…” Tenderly, he pulled back and tucked a hand beneath her chin, prompting her to look up at him. “You can still have the wedding you’ve dreamed of one day, Swan.” 

Killian’s heart clenched at the promise he was about to make, but his feelings of anguish over the prospect were not enough to quell the potential happiness the notion might bring her. 

“One day,” he continued, folding her back into his chest. “You’ll be swathed in the finest lace and silk money can buy, making your way down the long aisle of a cathedral, the envy of every socialite in attendance as your groom awaits you with bated breath, wondering how he ever got so lucky as to have you as his bride. You’ll be dizzy from the heady aroma of all the exotic blooms your mother will have imported for the day, and by the end of the night your head will be swimming from all the champagne you’ll _actually_ be able to consume.”

A small huff of amusement puffed against his chest, and he knew she was thinking of how they’d had to sneakily trade glasses back and forth throughout their brief reception so it would appear to all those in attendance she’d been drinking the celebratory beverage.

“Those dreams aren’t dead, Swan,” he professed. “Just delayed.”

“Maybe,” she murmured, whisking away an errant tear. “I know I’ve said this a hundred times or more, but…” She flicked her gaze up to his, her eyes sparkling from their teary sheen. “Thank you, Killian. Thank you for doing this, for putting aside and delaying your own plans in order to help me this way.”

Killian waved her off. “I’ve told you, Swan. I have nothing pressing to get home to. No plans to concern myself with.”

Her head tilted to one side, an expression of disbelief pinching her features. “I’m sure that isn’t true. You must have had some sort of plan for what you’d do after the war.”

Killian’s stomach fell away and his throat tightened, making it difficult to clear. “Aye. I did,” he admitted. “But…”

The soft touch of Emma’s hand on his cheek had him involuntarily nuzzling into her palm. “Tell me?” she prompted, tenderly. “Please? You know so much about me, but I hardly know anything about you.”

That much was true. Knowing they would not be able to fake details of Emma’s life, they had spent much of their preparations in getting Killian up to speed with her upbringing and background. The particulars of his life weren’t as big of a deal for her to know inside and out, especially when they’d both known he’d face the inquisition of her father upon arrival. All he had to do was play along with whatever she told them when filling in the blanks, and it wasn’t as though they’d know if she got a detail about his youth wrong here or there. She only knew the bare bones of his story: his mother’s passing, his father’s abandonment, his years of naval service, his brother’s death. In the beginning, it seemed prudent to not share so much of himself with her, to keep a measure of distance between them, but now…

“Tell you what,” he said. “I will share with you what I thought my life might entail after the war if… you will agree to sit and eat something.”

“Fine,” she sighed with a roll of her eyes. Standing, she glanced over at the table then down at herself. Flicking her eyes up at him, a rosy hue pinked her cheeks as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“What?”

“I, uh…” she began, hesitantly. “I think I’d like to change before we eat, but, um… I need help. With the buttons.”

Killian scratched awkwardly behind his ear when Emma turned, revealing the trail of satin buttons that ran the length of her spine. 

“Aye,” he acknowledged, stepping forward and bringing his fingers up to begin the tedious work. 

He could see the shallowing of her breaths from the stunted rise and fall of her shoulders, and when his knuckles brushed against the warmth of her skin, the fine hairs of her body stood on end, fanning out in all directions from his touch. His own breathing became erratic, and his lips became parched from the arid response the glimpse of her bridal lingerie, peeking through the ever-widening opening at her back, had on his mouth. When the last button was finally slipped from its fastening, Killian hastily stepped away and turned his back, lest she catch a glimpse of other effects the simple, and unexpectedly erotic, act had on his body.

“I’ll, um…” He swallowed past the dryness and tried to rein in his desire as he made his way to the wardrobe where his clothes had been put away, retrieving his pajamas. “I’ll go change in the bathroom and give you some privacy.”

Her barely audible _thank you_ followed him, and he had to splash a fair amount of cool water onto his face before his body finally seemed to get the message. Once changed, he took a deep breath and cracked open the door, calling out to make sure she was decent before exiting in his pajama bottoms and undershirt. Tossing his uniform on a nearby chair, hoping he wouldn’t have to wear it again for a good long while, Killian joined Emma, who was already sat at the table, her delicate robe cinched tightly around her with her hair, now free of its pins, cascading over her shoulders.

_Lord, give me strength._

“Shall we make a toast before we begin?” Killian suggested, pouring them each a small portion of wine, figuring a sip or two wouldn’t do her any harm.

“Alright,” Emma agreed, taking the wine glass from him and swirling its contents. “What shall we toast to?”

Raising his glass, Killian said, “A toast to… a well executed plan. Even if it wasn't one either of us anticipated.”

Emma raised her glass in solidarity, adding, “A toast to the unexpected.” A soft smile curved over her lips and her gaze dipped to her lap where Killian noticed her hand was gently caressing her stomach. “And all the what ifs that come with it.”

“A toast to what if,” Killian echoed, softly clinking his glass to hers.

“To what if,” she whispered, sipping a small bit of wine from her goblet.

They tucked into the meal, a casual silence settling over them while they savored the first few samplings of their marital repast. Though she did her best to eat as much as she could, Emma’s bites soon turned meager and less frequent, favoring the starchier offerings and even requesting whether Killian intended to eat his bread. He gave it to her quite willingingly, and it was as she was picking at it that he finally kept up his end of their bargain.

“You asked about my plans for the future,” he reminded, swiping his napkin over his mouth and leaning back in his chair. Her eyes met his, full of eager curiosity as she nodded. “Liam and I wanted to start our own shipping company,” he told her, focusing his thoughts on the conversations he and his brother had during quiet moments the war rarely offered, and not the looming spectres gathering at the fringes. “Or rather, we had planned to buy into the company Liam had worked for before we joined the navy.”

“The one your father had worked for before he…”

“Aye,” Killian answered, his tone only slightly strained at the mention of his father. “The owner of the company, Nemo, was more than just a boss to Liam,” he continued. “He looked out for us both as best he could after Father left. Even made an arrangement with our landlady, getting us a lower rent in exchange for odd jobs I did for her after school.” A fond smile pulled at Killian’s lips as he reminisced. “It was at his urging that Liam and I both entered the service, and we had hoped to repay his kindness and make a future for ourselves by partnering with him.”

“Why can’t you still do that?” Emma asked. “I know it won’t be the same without your brother, but--”

“I don’t have the funds,” Killian admitted. A rush of heat flared to the tips of his ears at the humiliation he was about to confess. “I lost it all. Everything I had saved… it’s all gone.”

“Gone?” Emma gasped, her eyes widening in shock. “How?”

Killian’s eyes turned downcast as he shamefully mumbled, “I gambled it away.” His hands fisted at the tops of his thighs as the memory barreled over him. “After Liam… I was in a dark place. Drinking heavily and allowing myself to get goaded into a number of situations I’d always had the sense to avoid. Although, in all honesty, it was Liam’s sense that had protected me more than my own.” 

Breathing out a heavy exhale, Killian continued the tale. “I don’t remember much of the days after the war ended and my official discharge was issued. With honors,” he embittered. “Bestowing a medal and my severance upon me in the wake of my brother’s memorial. I do recall waking up in an alleyway I had obviously passed out in without a cent to my name. Well, all except for a small emergency stash I kept at the bottom of my duffle. A habit Liam had instilled in me.” 

Another sigh was let go, and he slowly brought his gaze up to Swan’s, which was blurred by unshed tears. Chagrined over the distress he was clearly causing her, Killian attempted to smile as he teasingly self-depreciated, “And you thought a few tears over fake nuptials was a stupid way to react to grief. Imagine being so idiotic, you lose your entire life-savings.”

Emma slid off her chair and padded her way to Killian’s side, making him tense up. A response that only increased when she lowered herself onto his lap and ran a hand through his hair. 

“You’re not idiotic,” she murmured. “You were, and still are, in pain.”

The muscle above his jaw flickered, a mixture of anger and sorrow threatening to brim over until she rested her forehead against his. “I don’t know the circumstances of Liam’s death, and I’m not going to ask,” she assured him. “But I do know _your future_ didn’t die with him.” Pulling back, her eyes flickered between his. “You could still have your own shipping company someday, or become a partner in Nemo’s. One day,” she said softly, mimicking his tone from earlier. “You’ll be seated behind a fine mahogany desk in your very own office that looks over the water as you oversee mundane cargo manifests and employee time cards.”

A chuckle broke free from Killian’s chest, and his arms wrapped themselves around her in reciprocation of hers winding around his neck. 

“Thank you, love,” he murmured into her hair.

As it had been wont to do since the moment they’d met on the train platform, the atmosphere around them started to spool with a crackling charge. When Emma pulled back, Killian knew she felt it too from the way her lips parted and her cheeks flushed a rosy pink. Willing his eyes to remain locked onto hers and not drop down to her mouth, Killian cleared his throat once more and suggested, “Perhaps we ought to turn in.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, breathlessly, though she made no attempt to move. “I am feeling rather tired.”

A few more heartbeats passed between them, and Killian became acutely aware of Emma’s soft form beneath the thin, silky layers of her robe and nightgown. Before he could do anything to try and ward it off, his body reacted to hers once again. Realization made her eyes widen, and she quickly scrambled off his lap, pulling a groan from the back of his throat while she pretended not to notice his sudden discomfort.

“You’re sure you’re okay sleeping on the floor?” 

It was a conversation they’d already had. Killian nodded as he stood and took the pillow she’d already plucked from the bed from her, gripping it to himself, low.

“Aye, love. Like I said before, I’ve slept--”

“You’ve slept in worse places,” she finished cheekily, helping to alleviate the tension lingering between them.

Getting his pallet sorted on the floor, they wished each other a good night and turned out the lights. The atmosphere was still rich with temptation, but after a few moments Emma’s breathing evened out, the exhaustion of the day and her condition finally catching up with her, which left Killian alone with his thoughts. 

Mindlessly, he twirled the unfamiliar band around his ring finger and contemplated what Emma had said to him. She was right. While it would not be the same without Liam, his brother’s death didn’t mean he couldn’t go through with what they’d planned. He may have lost his savings, but there was still Liam’s. As soon as he filed the necessary paperwork as Liam’s next of kin, Killian would have access to the funds Liam had set aside for their future. He wouldn’t be able to buy in as a full partner right away, but he could still make good on those dreams.

The only issue was… Killian wasn’t so sure it was a dream he wanted. Not because his brother was no longer here, or because his journey home had been interrupted by Emma’s plight. No. As Killian lay awake, he wondered whether returning to that place, the place where his mother had died, where his father had deserted them, where Liam’s ghost would haunt him on every wharf was truly what he wanted. He wondered whether he had ever really wanted it, or had simply gone along with the idea because he felt he owed it to Liam and to Nemo. 

With sleep beckoning him from the edges of his consciousness, Killian’s mind thought back over other parts of their conversation that evening. Unanticipated plans they’d managed to implement, unexpected twists life had thrown at them, and a toast to the what ifs still to come.

What if.

What if he did something different than that which he and Liam had planned? What if he used the time here, helping Emma and adjusting to a life absent of war and military service, to truly figure out what he wanted? What if while aiding Emma in navigating her what ifs, he charted a new course of what ifs of his own?

Possibilities swirled through his mind as he surrendered to the pull of slumber. Images of a life tied to the sea morphed into a legacy of soil and earth. Plans shifted, expectations altered, and visions renewed themselves with details he never thought to consider before now. These fresh aspirations of an idyllic future free from the trauma of his past could not last, however. For as dawn began to creep its way onto the balcony of their suite, so too did the spectres of death and destruction. 

It was not an early bird’s bright song, or gentle rousing from one of the servants, alerting him that their breakfast was ready to be served that woke Killian the next morning. No. Instead, the first morning of his marriage, false even as it was, was marred by the horrible truth that haunted Killian most nights. The truth that, regardless of what he might wish or plan for, he may very well already be too broken to achieve it. 

Shaking off the vestiges of his nighttime horrors, covered in a sheen of sweat as his chest heaved, Killian watched as Emma thankfully continued to sleep in the soft glow of morning. Coveting the peace emanating from her face, Killian wondered, despondently, _What if… I’m too broken to deserve it_?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating this last week as scheduled. We lost power due to an ice storm and only got it back a couple of day ago. This story will continue to update every other Sunday. 
> 
> For this chapter... be advised that everything I know about sheep shearing I learned from the internet, so please forgive any mistakes. Also, let’s suspend reality about how long it would take a grown woman to become proficient at swimming after only one lesson, shall we?
> 
> Hope you enjoy the update, and thank you for reading!!

**Chapter 5**

They weren’t talking about it. Four days into their _marriage_ , four nights of having slept in the same room together, little more than a week since they’d met, and they were not talking about the wall slowly mortaring a barrier between them.

Emma knew Killian was suffering.

She didn’t remember much of their wedding night after she’d fallen asleep, but the night after that still ran through her mind like a wartime newsreel. Killian’s cries and thrashes had forced her to go to his side in an effort to bring him out of the terror he was enduring. Instead of waking with a sense of relief, he’d lashed out in a panic, knocking her over before realizing she was no threat to him. The look of horror on his face when clarity had finally reached his mind had her attempting to wrap him in her arms, but he'd scrambled out of reach, apologizing and rushing to the balcony with the excuse that he needed air.

Emma had allowed him a few minutes alone to calm himself, crawling back into bed and awaiting him patiently. When he emerged from the balcony, still visibly shaken, he wouldn’t look at her as he asked if she was okay. After assuring him that she was just fine, that he hadn’t hurt her, she’d invited him to join her on the bed to talk about it. He rebuffed the offer gently, but firmly, and told her to go back to sleep as he settled back on the floor. The following day she barely saw him, except for mealtimes when they were surrounded by her family, and since then he’d become increasingly withdrawn.

Although the past couple nights hadn’t been as severe, Emma could tell his restlessness was taking its toll. Dark circles were starting to set in under his eyes, and although he did his best to stay jovial and upbeat with her and her family, the sparkle she’d first caught glimpse of on the train platform was starting to dim within his forget-me-not depths. Their pretenses of hand holding, soft brushes of lips against the other’s cheek, and affectionate gestures had begun to feel fabricated even to her, when before they had seemed to hold a genuine affinity.

Emma tried to tell herself that it didn’t matter. Tried to convince herself that it would be easier when he had to leave if there was no tenderness lingering between them. Perhaps that was why he was pulling away? Perhaps he was also concerned about forming attachments, or did not wish to burden any of them with his struggles when a greater burden would be revealed after he’d gone? Whatever the reason for this new barrier between them, Emma didn’t much care for it. She just wished she knew how to go about removing it, how to get through to him with comforting assurances that he did not have to pull away from her. Difficult to manage when he was doing his best to avoid her each day, using her father’s invitation to learn about estate management while Emma was otherwise occupied with her mother.

Today, however, might provide her with the opportunity she’d been hoping for; one that would reestablish them as a team and solidify their camaraderie once more. To say nothing of the respite it would supply, taking her away from her mother’s watchful eye as she tried to disguise her pregnancy symptoms each day. For today was sheep shearing day, an event that required all able-bodied men and women to lend a hand as they fleeced the flock in preparation of the hot summer that now seemed to be upon them.

Emma approached the paddock where the flock had already been gathered, the gentle bleating of the sheep greeting her as she made her way to Killian’s side. He and August were already entrenched in their conversation as the farm hand explained the process and educated the navy man on the tools they’d be using.

“Hand shears?” Killian remarked, examining the sharpened scissor-like instruments. “You don’t use electric clippers?”

“Only the main house has electricity,” August reminded him. “The barns, stable, and sheds were never wired. We tried tapping into the main house one year, but kept blowing fuses, and the generator spooks the sheep, so...” He snapped the shears together in a few rapid clicks to emphasize their only recourse without the modern convenience electricity would have otherwise provided.

“It's just another one of the long list of items Dad and Grandpa George fight over,” Emma told Killian, plucking the shears from his hand. “Fortunately, your wife knows her way around a sharp pair of shears.”

“Or unfortunately,” August quipped into Killian’s ear. “Best keep that in mind the next time you have a row, and be thankful we don’t castrate the livestock as well.”

Emma glared at August, but couldn’t keep any heat within the gaze as the sound of Killian’s chuckle filled her ears.

“Noted,” Killian replied, slipping an arm around Emma’s waist before he turned his gaze down to her. “What will my role be in today’s proceedings, then?”

“August will show you the proper way to hold the sheep so they can be sheared,” David declared, climbing over the paddock fence with Leo in tow. “They have to be maneuvered into about five different positions in order to complete the job, and it takes a firm and confident hand to do so without causing any harm to the animal or the shearer.”

August led the first sheep towards Killian and began to demonstrate each position and the quickest way to transition them into the next hold before turning the animal over to him.

“In hindsight,” August said in a low, cheeky tone, “I should have taught you these holds earlier. Then you could have been practicing them on Emma each night.”

Emma felt her own cheeks flare alongside Killian’s at August’s words and saucy wink. The man’s smug, salacious expression soon turned chagrined when Emma’s father muttered darkly, “I heard that,” causing the trio to clear their throats uncomfortably while smothering grins and snorts of laughter.

“Well, Sis,” Leo piped up. “Are you ready to finally meet your match?” Her brother snapped his shears together in challenge, forcing one of Emma’s brows to arch up her forehead.

“Excuse me?” she responded, tauntingly. “You really think you have what it takes to beat me?”

“It isn’t a contest,” David admonished.

Emma and Leo exchanged conspiratorial glances.

“What isn’t a contest?” Killian inquired, wrangling the sheep back into the first position, beads of perspiration already forming along his hairline from the exertion.

“Ever since Leo learned how to shear, he’s challenged Emma to see who can shear the most sheep the fastest,” August told him.

Killian chuckled and nodded his head in understanding; no doubt he was no stranger to the rivalry that naturally occurred between siblings. Especially when the younger wanted nothing more than to best the older.

“And I have never lost,” Emma crowed.

“Yeah, but you’ve missed shearing the past couple years,” Leo reminded her. “You’re out of practice, Sis. Whereas I have had nothing but time to hone my skills.”

“Even with a few years absence, I can still cut wool quicker and cleaner than you. My skills are more than up to the challenge.”

“It isn’t just your skill that makes the job quick and efficient,” David cut in. “Without a good handler you lose precious time in getting the animal situated and calm enough for shearing.”

“Exactly,” Leo retorted, moving to stand next to their father with a smug expression taking up his face. “And with Dad as my partner, you don’t stand a chance.”

Emma glanced over at Killian who met her eyes with his own determined stare.

“I always did like a challenge,” he stated. The spark of camaraderie glimmered in his eye, and a sly smirk pulled at the corner of his lips, sending a flutter through Emma’s chest.

Holding firm to his gaze, Emma situated herself before him and their first sheep. “I like my chances,” she told Leo without taking her eyes off Killian. “My husband and I make quite the team.” Killian’s smirk broadened into a wide grin, one Emma matched as August gave a few final pointers before turning them loose.

Her father and Leo allowed them to practice on a few sheep before the real match began. Emma loved watching Killian’s focused concentration, interrupted every so often as he tossed barbs and taunts back at her father and Leo whenever one of the animals attempted to get the better of him. August stood by to make sure they were all handling and shearing the animals properly, while her mother collected the wool and kept track of how many each team had done.

It was hard, tiring work, but the spirit of competition helped to keep the labor manageable. It was worth the fatigue and strain Emma could feel in her muscles whenever she caught Killian’s eye and shared a look of solidarity with him as they stayed neck and neck with her father and brother. To say nothing of the reward bestowed upon her as she watched his arms flex around each of their quarry, lines of sweat bead up along his skin, and listened to the grunts and grit out commands he issued under his breath. Distractions she had to shake off a time or twice after he gave her a pointed _ahem_ and deviously raised brow so they wouldn’t fall behind.

When the final sheep had been led away to join the rest of the freshly fleeced flock, the four of them waited for the final count. A loud _whoop_ rang out and Emma’s shoulders sagged when August announced that Leo and David had sheared more sheep. Killian wrapped a commiserating arm around her and drew her into his side, where she wasted no time in laying her head against his chest in defeat.

“Wait a moment,” her mother called out, looking over the piles of wool. “Are we judging based on quantity or quality? Because, yes, Leo and David may have gotten through more, but there are a number of shorn wools here we won’t be able to do anything with. If we’re going by usable results, then I would have to give the win to Emma and Killian.”

“Ha!” Emma crowed at Leo. “I told you! Keep practicing Baby Brother, better luck next time!”

“I’m not a baby,” Leo groused, arms folding petulantly over his chest. “And we still got through more sheep than you.”

“Aye, but any job doing is worth doing right,” Killian imparted, stepping forward and ruffling Leo’s hair.

“For once I agree with the pirate,” David grumbled, teasingly.

A wide, sassy grin broke over Killian’s face. “I _am_ winning you over, aren’t I?”

“Don’t push it.”

“Why don’t we call it a draw and go get cleaned up for lunch,” Mary Margaret suggested. “August and the other hands can finish things here.”

“Yes, ma’am,” August replied, collecting the stacks of fleece and nodding his acknowledgement before calling to a few of the other hands to come and help.

After accepting congratulatory handshakes and hugs, Emma and Killian were left alone as her family headed up to the main house ahead of them.

“I must say,” Killian began, his arms still circling her waist and his breath caressing the edge of her ear from where his chin rested on her shoulder. “Even though I am thoroughly exhausted, I rather enjoyed that.”

“I’m glad,” Emma sighed, resting her arms over his so he wouldn’t feel inclined to pull away now their audience had departed.

“What about you?” he asked, his hands slipping down to cover her belly, meaningfully. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good,” she assured him, placing her hands atop his. “Though, I wouldn’t say no to a nap after lunch.” Hedging a bit, she dared to add, “You should probably consider doing the same.”

“Aye,” he exhaled. “I suppose it’s no secret I haven't been sleeping well.”

A tense moment hung between them until Emma quietly offered, “If you ever want to talk about it…”

“Aye, love,” he replied, placing a soft kiss to her temple. “I know.”

~/~

They weren’t talking about it. More than a week had passed since the wedding, yet Emma had given no indication as to how much longer she expected Killian to stay. While he had no desire to bring the matter up, lest she think he was wanting to leave, with each passing day it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep himself emotionally distanced from the attachments he was making to people, the estate, and the woman he was supposed to abandon any day now.

He’d tried. God knows he’d tried, but how could he have ever guessed a plot of land could produce such a siren’s call? Killian never thought he’d live anywhere, or make his living from anything but the sea, yet a patch of dirt had never felt more like home to him. More and more the _what ifs_ were starting to solidify in ways he knew they shouldn’t… _couldn’t_ , and yet, with Emma’s continued silence, Killian found himself hoping for things he knew he oughtn’t.

Hoping for, but not talking about. No discussion as to when this partnership would come to an end, no divulged utterances regarding the things she had offered to lend an ear to, and no acknowledgment of the unspoken feelings that seemed to be growing between them. Unless those feelings were only manifesting themselves within Killian and he was merely projecting a sense of wistful fancy to the idea Swan might be experiencing them as well?

Feelings he was going to have a difficult time keeping in check this afternoon while he gave her the first of his promised swimming lessons, if the way she looked in her bathing suit gave any indication.

“Right,” he began, on something of a strained breath as he led her out into the pond. “First, we’ll want to get you comfortable in the water. The tenser you are, the less buoyant you become. If you stay relaxed, then your body will naturally float. So, that’s where we’ll start.”

They reached a point where Emma could no longer touch the bottom of the pond, and contrary to the lesson he was trying to impart, she immediately panicked and latched onto him, clinging to him with her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs practically circling his waist.

He’d never been more thankful for the slight chill still swirling through the deeper waters.

“Relax, love,” Killian murmured, prying her arms from his neck. “I promise you are in safe hands. All you have to do is trust me.”

Taking them back a few steps closer to shore, she finally relinquished her hold on him when she could once again feel the pebbles beneath her feet. Killian pushed aside the bereft feeling her absence left behind and carried on with his instruction, demonstrating how one could float on their back before encouraging her to give it a try.

“I’m right here,” he assured her, guiding her into position with one hand between her shoulder blades and the other splayed across her lower back. “Just remember to keep your hips up and head back.”

“I feel like I’m gonna sink,” Emma told him, her body still too rigid to stay afloat without his assistance.

“That’s because you’re too tense,” he gently admonished. “Close your eyes and let the world go silent.”

Emma did as instructed, letting her head fall back so her ears were submerged. Killian knew with the sights and sounds of the world cut off from her, all that would remain for her to focus on would be the feel of both the water and his hands cradling her.

Lightly, he began to stroke his fingers along her spine while his other hand kneaded away the tension at her shoulders. A soft exhale escaped her lungs, followed by a moan that not even the crisp water temperature could keep from making his body physically respond to. The glistening droplets clinging to her skin weren’t helping matters. Ripples of raised gooseflesh from the brisk air, and perhaps even in response to his touch, drew his eye to the swell of her breasts and down the expanse of her slender legs. When his eyes traveled back up her body he met her now open eyes, and felt himself flush at having been caught staring.

Wetting his lips, he reaffixed his purpose. “I’m going to remove my hand at your back. Stay relaxed and see if you can float.”

She gave him a small nod of acknowledgement, and when he removed his hand she managed to stay buoyant, prompting him to remove the hand at her shoulder as well. Like some sort of water goddess, Emma serenely drifted over the surface of the water for several moments, until a wide grin broke over her face and a laugh of triumph broke the spell, dipping her under the water and prompting Killian to reach for her. Instead of the alarm he was expecting, she was still laughing when she broke the surface of the water.

“I did it!” she said, overjoyed. After wiping the excess water from her face, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“You were brilliant, Swan,” Killian praised, settling his hands at her waist. “Are you ready for your next lesson?”

“Ready!” she replied with her smile still in place. “What’s next?”

“Next,” he said slyly, “is getting comfortable with being underwater.”

He inhaled deeply and wrapped his arms around her before dragging her back beneath the surface, her eyes went wide as she scrambled to suck in a quick breath. A chuckle rumbled from his chest when they both emerged. He shook his head, sending droplets flying as Emma once again swiped a hand down her face.

“Killian!” she yelled. “A little warning next time!”

She pushed at his chest, freeing herself from his embrace before he could pull her under again, and didn’t even realize she was treading water too deep for her to touch bottom. Killian waited for comprehension to dawn, and when Emma gasped, he offered her his hands to grab onto as they continued to tread water together.

For the next hour or so, Killian took her through a series of drills, worked on her kicks, and showed her a basic stroke for her arms. It didn’t take long for her to put all the elements together, swimming from one side of the pond to the other with an ease he couldn’t help but smirk at.

“Watch the mocking,” she sassed during her fifth pass. “I think I’m actually getting the hang of this.”

“I’m not mocking you, Swan. I’m marveling. You seem to be a natural.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, pausing a few feet from him and catching her breath, “but I do think I lucked out with having a pretty good teacher.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he cheeked, while deviously hitching his brows at her.

“Seriously, though,” she said with a sincere gleam in her eyes. “Thank you, Killian.”

“Perhaps,” he hummed, flirtatiously, not wanting their time of frivolity to end. “Gratitude _is_ in order.” He suggestively tapped his lips as his brows arched in challenge.

“Yeah,” she drawled amusedly, rolling her eyes. “That’s what the thank you was for.”

“Is that all my instructions, ones that might someday save your life, I might add, are worth to you?”

“Please,” Emma scoffed. “You couldn’t handle it.”

“Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it?”

Killian hadn’t expected Emma to rise to his challenge. If anything, he thought he might get another eye roll or witty retort. Instead, she skimmed her way through the water, bringing herself closer to him and making his breath hitch. It wasn’t until he saw the flash of mischief in her eyes when she raised her hands out of the water that he realized her intent. Too late to do anything else, he sucked in a large breath as her hands pressed down on his head, forcefully dunking him beneath the surface before she scurried towards the shore. When he surfaced, sputtering out a laugh that harmonized with her giggle, he set off after her.

“You’re gonna pay for that!” he called out, scrambling up the bank a step behind her.

He caught her just as they both made it to the gazebo where their towels and robes awaited them. Grasping her elbow, he swung her around, a cascade of droplets flinging from her hair flew in all directions before her chest met his, matching the rapid rise and fall as their eyes locked briefly before slipping to one another’s lips.

Killian had no idea which of them initiated it. Maybe they’d met halfway. The force with which their lips met would have certainly indicated it. Not that he gave a bloody damn. Nothing else mattered to him in that moment, only the feel of Emma’s body plastered against his as their mouths slid against the other’s, slick from the pond water still sluicing its way down their bodies.

His hand tangled into her wet hair as hers slipped over his back. Her breasts were cold against his chest, but that only prompted him to pull her closer until she wound her arms around his neck. Hungry for a taste of her ever since she’d teased him with the delicacy of her lips on their wedding day, Killian’s tongue was insistent with its demand for entrance. Fortunately, she seemed just as eager, just as starved as he’d been, given how ravenous her tongue was against his, how greedily their mouths sought to devour the other.

Killian backed her up to the side of the gazebo and hitched her leg over his hip, swallowing down her gasp when he sought out a bit of friction from between her thighs. His own groan reverberated around them, and he began to trail a line of hot kisses down the column of her throat, nearly settling his attentions in the valley of her breasts when a voice called out and startled them both.

“Emma? Killian? Are you done swimming for the da-- OH! Am I interrupting something?”

A gruff _yes_ left Killian’s tongue just as Emma shoved him away and answered her mother with a panicked sounding, _no!_

Her eyes flicked down to where he was still aching for her and she quickly put herself between him and her mother, shielding him from view as her face flamed red.

“No,” she rushed to say again. “No, we were, uh… just finishing up.”

“Right, well,” Mary Margaret stammered. “I need you both to return to the house and get ready for dinner. We’re eating early tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because,” she said with a tone of seriousness. “Grandpa George will be joining us. He’s just arrived, and eager to see you both.” Killian saw Emma’s shoulders tighten, and his pulse ticked up a notch. “So, I’d suggest you get cleaned up quickly and not keep him waiting.”

Mary Margaret retreated back towards the house, and Emma immediately grabbed for a towel to begin drying off with.

“Swan?” Killian said softly. Though his nerves were suddenly in overdrive at the prospect of meeting her grandfather, that was nothing compared to the churning in his gut at the sense that she couldn't seem to escape his presence fast enough - nor did she seem willing to meet his eyes. “About what just occurred between us,” he pressed. “That was--”

“A one time thing,” she blurted out in a frantic tone. “We shouldn’t have… _I_ shouldn’t have… I’m sorry, it was…” Killian’s heart sank with each stammered response. “This whole thing was a mistake. You should have left already. I never should have let you stay to face George, and now he’s here, and who knows what sort of fresh hell he’ll--”

“Hey, hey,” Killian soothed, grabbing onto Emma’s shoulders, then rubbing his hands up and down the length of her arms. “It’s okay, love. We’ll get through this like we have everything else. Together.”

“Right,” she exhaled, running her tongue over her lips, still pinked and swollen from his kiss.

Gods, did he want to kiss her again. Unfortunately, her next words made it clear that such a wish would go unfulfilled.

“We’ll get cleaned up, get through dinner, then tonight we’ll come up with an exit strategy for you,” she told him, securing her robe tightly around her then gazing up at him with a look of firm resolve.

His Adam’s apple bobbed against the lump forming in his throat.

“As you wish.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_“But even if we just had electrical service running throughout the property, we could increase productivity exponentially.”_

_“I have been quite pleased with the estate’s productivity thus far, I see no justification in spending the funds required for these modernizations you keep banging on about.”_

“Well, at least Dad has kept George in an amicable mood,” Emma groused, sarcastically, as she and Killian hovered in the foyer outside the drawing room, listening in while the two Nolan men argued. “Might as well get in there and get this over with.”

Although Killian knew she was referring to the introductions ahead, he couldn’t help but infer a deeper meaning, applying her words to the agreement between them… and the agreement they’d made in their room moments ago.

The agreement that he would leave tonight.

Anticipating a nasty encounter with Emma’s grandfather, Killian had swallowed his own desires and brought up her wish for them to discuss an exit strategy while they had a bit of a calm before the storm. Her reaction to having been caught in such an intimate position by her mother had spoken volumes to Killian, as had her resolve all through their retreat back to the house. It was clear, no matter what might be blooming between them, that Emma had no desire for him to remain long term. The sooner he left and allowed them to both carry on with their lives, the better. It was going to be hard enough for him to walk away later that night, and delaying his exit would only make things more painful. Killian could live with that pain, but would never wish to cause Emma more heartache than necessary. So, with her best interests in mind, and wanting to cater to her wishes, he had broached the topic and they’d agreed that tonight would be the night he would effectively abandon her.

If the prospect of meeting the head of her family didn’t put a sour feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing these were the final hours he’d be spending by her side surely did.

Entering the drawing room, all eyes fell on them with a varied spectrum of emotions emanating from each member of Emma’s family.

“Ah! This must be Captain Jones,” the elder Mr. Nolan greeted as he approached. “George Nolan. A pleasure to meet you, Captain.”

Taken aback by the unexpectedly cordial greeting, Killian’s usual reaction to being addressed by his rank was suppressed by the shock radiating through him as he shook the man’s hand.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Nolan. But please, call me Killian.”

“And my lovely Emma, how are you, my dear?” George inquired, turning his attention to his granddaughter.

“I am well, Grandpa,” she answered, stepping forward and lifting herself onto her toes so she could place a kiss at his weathered cheek. The action was a bit forced and awkward as she too seemed to be caught off guard by George’s civility. “How was your journey?”

“Well enough,” George replied, ushering them further into the room so they could join the rest of the family. “As I was telling your father, I am sure you were expecting me sooner, but I had a great many things to see to.”

The lack of apology for his late arrival, more than a week after the wedding, did not go unnoticed by Killian. Though, he didn’t imagine any of them had been expecting one. In truth, they’d all hoped it would be another week or so before George made his appearance.

“As head of the family, I should have been here to officially welcome Captain Jones,” George continued. While his tone and expression were still amicable enough, Killian began to pick up on an underlying current beneath the man’s demeanor; one that made the man’s words circumspect. “But I suppose it wasn’t much of a surprise to learn that, as usual, my granddaughter had gotten her way, despite what it meant for anyone else.”

Killian’s jaw tightened, as did his hold on Emma’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Grandpa,” Emma tried to appease with a forced smile. “We just didn’t want to wait another moment to begin our lives together.”

“We meant no disrespect,” Killian interjected. “As Emma said, we simply did not wish--”

“Yes, yes,” the man waved them off, making his way over to the bar cart to refresh his drink. “My son has already relayed all of that, and has seen fit to take full responsibility on the matter of my not being informed of your marriage until after the fact.” A harsh clink could be heard as ice was deposited into George’s glass, the agitated rattle a clear indication of the man’s true feelings coming to surface. “It seems he’s been taking on quite a bit of responsibility as of late,” the man went on, swirling the contents of his now full glass and effectively setting them all on edge with the way his eyes narrowed at David. “Or did you think I wouldn’t find out about your loan application?”

“Loan?” Mary Margaret questioned. “What loan?”

Killian could see the tension tightening in David’s shoulders, the quick inhale of surprise at having been outed as his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“The loan he’s requested so he can add frivolous amenities to _my_ estate,” George replied.

“Due respect, Mr. Nolan,” Killian said, releasing Emma’s hand and making his way to his father-in-law’s side. “David and I have had many conversations about the estate’s needs, and none of the improvements he wishes to make are frivolous.”

David’s head snapped towards him in response to his defense, his mouth parted with an incredulity that had his brows pinched together.

“What?” Killian quipped with a shrug of his shoulders, hoping to diffuse the uncomfortable atmosphere currently suffocating the room. “I told you we were getting along.”

While his cheeky tone and the impudent waggle of his brows did alleviate some of David’s strain, it only further goaded the senior Mr. Nolan.

“You’ll forgive me if I do not lend credence to the words of a man who has no experience from whence to draw such opinions. Besides, the management of this estate is a family matter and none of your business.”

“Killian _is_ family,” Emma reminded him sharply, threading her arm into the crook of his. “And despite having lived a life dedicated to the sea, he’s risen to the challenge of learning a new way of life here on the estate.”

“Oh, I bet he has,” George clipped out accusingly. “Don’t think because you’ve married Emma, _Captain_ , that any of this is yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emma demanded, completely missing the way Killian winced at George’s use of that particular word.

“What do you think it means?” the man barrelled on, all pretenses cast away. “You think I haven’t done my due diligence? You think I don’t know about your dear captain’s utter lack of breeding, fortune, or status? Even if I hadn’t, the fact he would deign to dine in such a state of improper grooming says enough about his character for me to form the opinion that he is not a suitable match for my granddaughter!”

“Improper grooming?” Emma said, staring at her grandfather as though he had thoroughly lost his mind. “You mean his beard? I asked him to grow it. I told him it would suit him. Are you seriously judging the man for his facial hair?”

“I am judging him based on what I’ve learned,” George defended. “And I assure you, _Captain_ Jones is not the upstanding Navy man he’s led you all to believe he is.”

“Killian,” Leo muttered under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?” George responded to his grandson’s mumbled utterance.

Clearing his throat, the lad looked up at his grandfather and repeated, “Killian. He prefers to be called Killian.”

Emma’s gaze swept over her husband, assessing his current state. Killian’s pulse pounded in his ears and his teeth ached from the way he’d kept them clenched together. He’d hoped isolating his tension in his jaw would keep it from manifesting to the point it might draw the others’ notice. No such luck, it seemed.

“I imagine he would,” George sneered. “It isn’t as if you actually _earned_ the title, isn’t that right… _Captain_?”

“Enough!” David jumped in. “Like it or not, Father, Killian is a member of this family now, and he--”

“I most certainly do _not_ like it,” George stated, his focus now centered upon his son.

“Because he comes from meager means? Might I remind you, as I did when you weren’t favorable to the idea of my own choice of spouse, that you had little to _your_ name before marrying my mother?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Nothing. I know you loved my mother, and she loved you.” David acknowledged. “I just think you need a reminder that we can’t control who we fall in love with, and Killian’s past shouldn’t--”

“His past?” George interrupted. “You think my objections are over his past? Oh no, my boy. I’m very much concerned about the present. About how he only received the rank of captain because bestowing the title upon him, whilst in battle, was his brother’s final act of service. He didn’t earn it, yet he reaps all the benefits. Benefits he gambled away in drunken exploits.”

All the while George continued to reveal that which he’d discovered, Killian desperately fought to maintain his composure. He would not fall apart now, not when he could see how the scene playing out in front them was affecting his Swan. Her entire body trembled with anger and despair, her eyes misting over as she blinked back tears at having to watch two of the most important men in the world to her argue so viciously. Was this what he would be abandoning her to after he was gone? Would she have to endure another of George’s tirades, watch her family be ravaged by scandal, bearing the brunt of it on her own?

“Do you really think I would judge him for the way he responded to his brother’s death?” David’s question pulled Killian back into the moment, his heart constricting in his chest at the way the man’s voice broke as he reminded, “You, of all people, know what I went through when James died.”

That statement forced an air of contrition to exude from the older man, but it was short lived when David’s words gave him an opening to bring up a matter he’d obviously been waiting for.

“Nothing you’ve told me matters. Not to me, not to any of us,” David asserted. “All that matters is that Emma loves Killian, and he loves her. Any fool can see how much they love one another. It’s written all over their faces, and in every action shared between them.”

George’s face split with a smirking grin, his next words throwing the room into chaos. “Then why aren’t they sharing a marital bed?”

Emma’s face drained of color. “How did you…?”

“Is that true?” Mary Margaret inquired, breaking her silence.

“What did you do?” David demanded. “Bribe my staff for information the moment you crossed the threshold?”

“I believe you mean _my_ staff?” George countered before focusing his full attention onto Emma and Killian. “I think it is high time you both came clean. Something is amiss here. The circumstances surrounding your _marriage_ don’t add up. I want to know what is _really_ going on. Why has Killian been sleeping on the floor since your wedding night if you’re so hopelessly in love with one another?”

Killian could sense Emma beginning to buckle under the strain. Her mouth opened a number of times, attempting to form words, mustering up the courage to reveal the truth. A truth that would trigger a reaction so explosive he feared how the fallout would affect both Emma and the child she carried. Unwilling to allow her any further distress, Killian took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and made a confession of his own.

“Because of the nightmares.”

All eyes darted to him, but the only ones he was aware of were Emma’s.

“Killian, no,” she protested. “You don’t have to--”

“It’s alright, Swan,” he assured her, noting a look of consternation crossing George’s face before the man could school his features. “I don’t think it comes as a surprise to anyone in this room that the war had a… damaging effect on me.” Licking his lips, he swallowed once more, against the rising anxiety churning in his gut, and pressed on. “Shell shock, they used to call it. Now it goes by the name battle fatigue.” A light snorting scoff left his lungs. “Fatigue is most definitely accurate, as I haven’t had a decent night’s rest since… most nights, they aren’t too bad. The nightmares. But sometimes… sometimes they can cause violent outbursts, and I… I would never be able to forgive myself if Emma was ever harmed because of them. So yes, Mr. Nolan, I sleep on the floor. To protect Emma.”

The room was silent for several long moments, fraught with tensity, like the string of a bow pulled taut and ready to snap at the first utterance.

“Damn you,” Emma quietly cursed, her steely gaze set upon George. “Damn you for making him do that. _Damn_ you.”

Though it was clear he felt chastised by Killian’s admission, George wasn’t about to back down and lose face before the entire family. “I will not be spoken to that way, young lady. I am still the head of this family, and while I realize the name Nolan means little to you, I expect to be treated--”

“Please tell me we are _not_ bringing that up again,” David chimed in, exasperatedly. “Emma’s choice to go by Swan while in service was not a slight against you.”

Killian now understood the disgruntled expression George had made when he’d called her Swan earlier. Utilizing it as an affectionate endearment, he’d forgotten her explanation that night on the train of how she’d come by the name. Turns out it was her middle name, bestowed upon her in honor and memory of David’s biological father, Robert Swan. No wonder George chafed at her use of it.

“Of course it was,” George argued. “She is a Nolan!”

“Actually,” Emma interjected angrily, her voice quivering with pent up emotion that had begun to escape her lashes. “This entire conversation is pointless, seeing as I am a _Jones_ now!”

With tears streaming down her face, Emma marched out of the exterior drawing room doors and onto the terrace beyond. As Killian made his way to follow, he stopped George from going after her as well, placing a hand on the man’s chest, stalling his commands that she return this instant.

“Let her be.”

George slapped his hand away and puffed out his chest. “I told you before. This is a family matter, and none of your business.”

Killian stepped forward, brought himself up to full height, and looked down at George as the muscle above his jaw flickered, quietly imparting, “She _is_ my business.”

Assured the man wouldn’t follow, Killian turned and went after Emma, finding her at the far end of the terrace with her arms wrapped around herself.

“Are you alright, love?” he murmured into her hair after circling his own arms around her waist.

Her hair brushed against his lips as she nodded her head, a small sniffle accompanying her attempt to reassure him. “I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry about me, not after everything George--”

“But I do worry about you,” he admitted, slipping his hands over her belly as he’d done once before when they were alone. “Both of you.”

She stiffened in his embrace, and he cursed himself for making her uncomfortable. “Swan, I--”

Before he could utter his apology, the sound of a bell clanged and frantic shouts called out from the other side of the property.

“Fire! The stable’s on fire!”

Rushing along the back of the house, they were met with the other members of Emma’s family, as well as the rest of the household, as they took in the sight of the stables going up in flames. David sprang into action, calling out commands to rescue the horses while August began directing men to fight the fire. Leo ran after his father while Mary Margaret gathered the women, readying them to assist with the horses once they were freed from their stalls.

“Stay with your mother,” Killian told Emma before heading towards the structure, intending to help David and Leo with the horses.

“I can help,” Emma insisted, matching his strides, then nearly running into him when he suddenly stopped.

“No, love,” he argued. “It’s too dangerous.” Placing a hand over her stomach he reminded her, “There’s more than just your safety to consider.”

Emma covered his hand with her own, nodding her acknowledgment before releasing her hold of his hand so he could carry on.

By the time Killian reached the stables, most of the horses had been removed. Men scrambled about, some with hoses, others with buckets, waging war on the flames threatening to consume the building. The oppressive heat choked the air, but it was no match for the suffocating effect of Killian’s lungs seizing in his chest when the roof partially collapsed while Leo was still inside.

“Leo!” David screamed, racing towards the inferno, only to be thwarted by a burst of flames escaping from the stable’s main opening.

Without hesitation, Killian ripped off his suit jacket and plunged it into a nearby rain barrel, soaking it through. Draping the sodden garment over his head, he sprinted through a gap in the flames with frantic cries of his own name now being added to the cacophony of panic. Smoke stung his eyes and parched his throat, leaving him incapable of calling out for Leo. He could feel the blistering heat scorching around him, and knew he only had moments to find the lad before they both succumbed.

Over the roar of the blaze, Killian heard a faint cry for help and crept low in its direction, finding Leo pinned under a smoldering beam. Fortunately, it wasn’t substantial enough that Killian couldn’t remove it on his own, hoisting Leo up and over his shoulder as soon as he’d managed to free him.

The roasting temperature was quickly robbing Killian of his strength, and the smoke and swirling particulars of charred debris made it difficult to draw in a full breath. Each step felt as though his feet were made of lead, but somehow he managed to make it to the stable door just as the men were able to douse the flames that had previously obstructed it.

Several stumbling steps later, Killian emerged from the stables with Leo draped over his shoulder, ensuring they were well clear of the danger before depositing the boy on the ground and slumping down beside him.

“Leo!”

“Killian!”

“Someone call for the doctor!”

Mary Margaret and David rushed to their son’s side, frantically checking him over for injuries as he violently coughed and gasped for breath. Killian himself needed several moments to regulate his own breathing, enduring his own meticulous perusal at the hands of his Swan as she thoroughly looked him over for any obvious wounds.

“I’m fine… love,” he croaked between coughs.

“Are you sure?” she asked in a frenzied tone, her hands still running over his extremities as her eyes, wide with concern and panic, swept across every inch of him.

Stilling her hands, he assured her once more that he was alright. The terror she must have endured while waiting, hoping, for his and her brother’s safe return was etched in her face and shimmered in her eyes. Without warning, she lunged at him, throwing him off balance while wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging to him for dear life.

“It’s alright, love,” he rasped into her shoulder, gathering her in his embrace and cradling her against his chest. “I’m alright. As is Leo. Everything’s okay.”

Killian glanced over and was heartened to see Leo being helped to his feet, looking none the worse for wear as his mother guided him towards the main house. August made his way over, reporting that none of the animals had been harmed, but it looked as though the stable would be a total loss.

“What happened?” David questioned. “What started it?”

“A lantern,” the stable hand informed him, solemnly. “Someone left a lantern unattended.”

David’s features hardened and became mottled with rage. Turning his ire onto George, who Killian hadn’t noticed standing off to the side until now, a look of utter stupefaction stamped on the older man’s face that quickly morphed into shock as David grabbed onto the lapels of his jacket.

“This is all _your_ fault,” he roared. “If you had let me modernize the estate, then this never would have happened!”

Killian sprang from the ground and pulled David back. “That’s enough, mate!” Grabbing the man by the face, he forced Emma’s father to look at him. “None of that matters right now. Leo needs you. Go. Be with your boy.”

Looking past his father-in-law’s shoulder, Killian caught Emma’s eye. Understanding that which he was trying to impart, she stepped up and tucked herself into her father’s side.

“Come on, Dad,” she beseeched. “Let’s go check on Leo and see if the doctor’s arrived to look him over.”

Although reluctant to let the matter go, David did relent and allow his daughter to lead him back into the house.

“I’ll help August get everything under control out here, then I’ll be along,” Killian called out after them.

August had already withdrawn back to the organized chaos, everything well in hand as the men combatted a few remaining hot spots. Killian was detained from joining them by the dejected looking George Nolan, standing slump shouldered as he gazed forlornly towards the main house.

“You should go and be with your family,” Killian told him.

“They aren’t my family. Not really.” The statement was said in such a tone of hushed melancholy, Killian almost didn’t hear him. “I had always hoped the lack of a bloodline between us wouldn’t matter, but… you know what they say about blood being thicker than water.”

An agitated huff left Killian’s lungs. “That saying is bollocks, and you’re daft if you think blood alone makes a family.”

George’s head snapped towards Killian. “I beg your pardon?”

Stepping up before the man, Killian admonished, “Can’t you see how much they want your love and respect? How much David longs for your approval, and how Emma wants to please you?” Running a frustrated hand down his face, Killian sighed. “I know you think it’s the family fortune that keeps them anchored to you, but you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” George challenged.

“Yes! You are!” Killian shouted, letting his temper loose on the insufferable man. “Bloody hell, do you know what I would give to have what you have? You think blood is what binds a family together? My own father left! Walked out on his own flesh and blood, abandoning me and my brother. Blood meant nothing to him.” Chest heaving from his angry rant, Killian took a moment to draw in a deep breath and stated in a more composed manner, “It means nothing to me either, but not in the same way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he began again, “that during my years of service I forged bonds with men that became every bit as much of a brother to me as Liam was. That after my father left, Liam and I were lucky enough to have someone stand in the gap he left behind. Like _you_ did for David and James after their father was gone. Like…” Killian's words stuttered to a stop upon his tongue, but continued to play out within his mind, knocking the wind out of him.

_Like he would for the child Emma was carrying, regardless of the fact he was not the babe’s sire._

“I suppose you have a point,” George conceded, unaware of the turmoil wreaking havoc in Killian’s heart and mind. “You should get back to assisting the men,” he said as a way of both ending the conversation he was clearly uncomfortable with and excusing himself before retreating back to the house.

Killian stood there for an indeterminate amount of time, unable to move. Up until now, he’d been focused on the developing feelings he had for Emma, and how he was going to overcome them once he left. It wasn’t until that moment he’d allowed himself to acknowledge the truth.

It wasn’t just his feeling for Emma he would somehow have to let go of.

~/~

A strange sort of atmosphere permeated the estate the following day. After partaking of breakfast before anyone else was awake, George had sequestered himself in his office. Her brother, although having sustained only minor injuries, was convalescing in his room due to their mother’s insistence he rest. Her father, Killian, and August were still assessing the damage from last night’s fire, the aftermath of which had made it impossible for Killian to leave.

Unable to sneak away with so many people milling about the property, they had agreed he should stay one more night. While Emma had been grateful at the time, too exhausted to adequately prepare herself for his departure, she’d woken up that morning sick to her stomach (and not in the usual way) with the knowledge that tonight he absolutely had to go. They simply could not put it off any longer.

Tucking away the last of Killian’s things in his duffle bag, Emma then stored it in their wardrobe so it would be ready for him as soon as dinner was over. After laying out another of her father’s old suits for Killian to change into - he’d refused to allow her to buy him any of his own while they carried out their charade - she left their room already dressed for dinner. Part of her wanted to spend whatever time they had left together, but another part of her knew she needed to keep her distance. In another hour the family would meet for their pre-dinner drinks, enjoy their meal, then retire to their rooms for the night, where she would then have to say her good-byes to the man she…

_No,_ Emma chastised herself. She wouldn’t allow her mind to go there again, wouldn’t allow it to admit the truth that had been revealed last night when her heart had been in her throat, desperately waiting, hoping, _praying_ he would get out of that burning stable alive. She couldn’t allow the revelation to descend from her mind down into her heart where she knew it would take root only to whither in his absence instead of bloom.

Having gotten lost in the distractions she’d occupied her mind with, Emma was nearly the last to arrive in the drawing room that night. Upon seeing her, Killian immediately excused himself from Leo and made his way over, kissing her cheek in greeting.

“There you are, love. We were about to send out a search party for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” Killian waved off as he escorted her into the room. “We’re still waiting for George to make his appearance.”

“And I, for one, am rather curious, and slightly terrified, of what he’s been up to in his office all day,” David quipped, brushing a kiss against his daughter’s cheek before offering her a glass of wine. One she’d have to once again pretend to drink.

Curiosities were about to be sated with George’s arrival a moment later. “Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, briskly making his way to the bar cart to pour himself a drink. “And I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve asked the kitchen staff to hold dinner a bit longer, as I have some things I’d like to say.”

The collective response within the room was a mixture of wary anticipation and cautious intrigue as they waited with baited breath for George to finish making his drink before turning to face them all.

Cupping his glass in his hands, he toyed with the rim, running the pad of his thumb over it while he collected his thoughts. Emma was ready to jump out of her skin, anxious about what her Grandfather was about to announce, when the man opened his mouth and uttered words she had never in her life heard him say.

“I’m sorry.”

If she pulled a hair pin from where it was secured atop her head and dropped it, Emma was certain they would have all heard it hit the carpet.

“I’m sorry to you, son,” George said to her father. “You’re right. You’ve been right for years, and I haven’t listened. We need to modernize the estate. What happened last night…” he paused, ducking his head for a moment to collect himself before pressing on. “I’ve contacted the bank and authorized a line of credit for you to use at your discretion, and I want you to know that I… I have nothing but faith and trust in your ability to run this place.”

Knowing he had to have been as stunned as the rest of them, Emma wasn’t surprised when her father was unable to respond before George moved on, apologizing to her mother next.

“You are a fine woman, Mary Margaret, and I am sorry if I ever made you feel unworthy or unwelcome. And I want to thank you,” he added with a small quiver in his voice. “Thank you for giving me these two beautiful grandchildren.”

Mary Margaret was also too overcome to respond, and so George moved on… to her and Killian.

“Emma. I am sorry I haven’t been more supportive of you and your life choices. You are the woman your parents have raised you to be, and David is the man I raised, so I suppose… I have no one to blame but myself for your tenacity and stubbornness,” he said with a hint of a self-deprecating smile pulling at his lips. “And Killian,” he went on. “I am sorry for my behavior last night. I’m sorry I put you in the difficult position of having to expose a personal matter you weren’t at all ready to reveal. I knew men who suffered much the same way after the Great War, and will never hold such struggles against you. I also want you to know…” He stepped forward and extended his hand towards Killian, his eyes holding a look of some sort of significance. “I thought a lot about what you said, and I want to properly welcome you into my family.”

Emma heard an audible release of the breath Killian had been holding as he reached out to take George’s proffered hand.

“Thank you, Mr. Nolan.”

“George,” her grandfather corrected. “Please. Call me George.”

Killian grinned broadly. “Thank you, George. It means so much to Emma and me to have your approval.”

“Well, you do,” George reemphasized, releasing Killian’s hand. “And to prove it, I want you to know that I have already dispatched an announcement of your nuptials to all the major newspapers, and I’ve arranged for a photographer to come here, tonight, to take your official wedding portrait to accompany the write-up.”

“What?” Emma exclaimed, becoming lightheaded and weak-kneed.

“Swan?” Killian caught her by the elbow and led her to the corner settee, gently easing her onto the cushion. “Are you alright, love? You've gone as white as a fresh sail.”

“Y-Yes,” she stammered as her heart continued to race. “I just…”

Just what? It wasn’t as if she could truly say what was on her mind. She wasn’t even sure Killian would understand the madness erupting within her as elation over her grandfather finally making peace with them all battled with her exasperation that the man would choose _this night_ to voice his approval of Killian and their marriage.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. George was supposed to make things unbearable for Killian so his departure, while detestable, would be in some ways a little understandable. What excuse would he have for leaving now? And an announcement in the papers? Now the entire country would know. How could she have let things get this complicated for him?

“Swan?” Killian murmured, crouching down before her and prompting her to look at him with his finger tucked between her chin. “Talk to me.”

Emma licked her lips and swallowed down her dread and guilt for putting him in this position. They simply had to stick to the plan. Drinks, dinner, _a portrait_ , retire, depart. She’d come up with something. Some excuse. Fabricate an argument or something. She’d figure it out. They just had to stick to the plan.

“I’m fine,” she replied, feigning an embarrassed smile. “I think I just need to eat. I skipped lunch, and all this excitement…”

Killian’s soft, forget-me-not gaze told her he knew what was really going on in her mind, an unspoken understanding passing between them as he helped her to her feet.

“Then perhaps your grandfather would be good enough to inform the kitchen staff that we are ready to dine,” Killian said, partially to her and partially over his shoulder to the hovering members of her family.

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Killian leaned in to whisper into her ear as they made their way into the dining room. “Everything will be alright, love. You don’t have to worry about me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s surviving. We’ll get through this.”

~/~

The bedside clock tauntingly ticked off the seconds as Killian stood before the wardrobe, heartsick at what awaited him when he’d opened the door. Emma had sent him up after they’d sat for their portrait, telling him she had something she needed to grab before joining him upstairs. He’d been gathering his courage all day, been bolstered by George’s acceptance, and set at ease by the pleasant dinner he’d enjoyed with Emma and her family. He’d made his way into their room, determined to tell her how he felt the moment she joined him, but when he’d opened the wardrobe to hang up his suit jacket, all of his elation deflated at the sight of his duffle, all packed and ready to go.

Ready for _him_ to go. Swan had packed his things, expecting him to leave. He’d once told her he would stay until she told him it was time to go, that he’d leave on her terms. Well, her terms were neatly pressed and folded within the canvas issued to him at the start of the war, giving him a new set of marching orders.

The question was… should he risk defying such orders? Or would doing so only cause more pain when she’s forced to tell him she doesn’t feel the same?

Hearing the turn of the knob, Killian reached down and pulled his duffle from where it sat, deciding to have it at the ready, just in case. Seeing her with a precariously perched tray on her forearm, Killian dropped his duffle at the foot of their bed and rushed to assist.

“Thanks,” she said, closing the door behind her. “I thought, uh… I thought we ought to have a toast before you leave.”

Setting the tray down, Killian noticed the wine decanter and two goblets. The same ones they’d toasted with on their wedding night.

Stepping up beside him, Emma poured a small measure of wine in each glass then passed him one. He could see the tremble in her hand, and could clearly hear the emotion in her voice when she lifted her glass and said, “A toast to a well executed plan,” parroting his words from that night.

Following her lead, Killian lifted his glass. “A toast to the unexpected.”

Together, they murmured the final toast before partaking of it with a clink of their glasses.

“A toast to what if.”

Killian stared into Emma’s viridian eyes, his chest aching from the way his heart was screaming at him. Drawing in a quick breath of courage, he opened his mouth… and cursed whoever it was knocking at their door.

Emma plucked the glass from his hand then snatched his duffle off the floor, shoving it at him. “Go,” she said. “Quickly. You have to go. Now.”

Pushing him towards the balcony, and the trellis he’d already tested as a viable means of escape from the second floor, Emma insisted he go while ignoring his protests.

“Emma, wait. I--”

“Please,” she said, another round of knocks echoing from the door, followed by her mother’s voice. “Go now while I distract Mom. The men are in the front room, and the staff is cleaning up from dinner. Go now, so you won’t be seen.”

“But, Swan. I--”

Having finally made their way onto the balcony, Emma lifted herself up onto her toes and kissed the corner of his mouth, silencing him with her action.

“Thank you,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes as they shimmered with gratitude. “Thank you for everything, Killian. Go, and have a good life.”

Another quick peck to his cheek, and she rushed back into their room, heading for the door. Killian quickly stepped into the shadows, warring with himself about what to do even as he knew he couldn’t leave. There was no way he’d make it off the property before giving in to the compulsion of returning to her side. So, he waited. Waited until Mary Margaret left. Waited until Emma had readied herself for bed. Waited… while all of his what ifs swirled through his mind.

When he opened the door and stepped back into the room, she bolted upright in bed, tear tracks staining her cheeks. How long had he stood in that dark corner of the balcony?

“What are you doing back here?” she exclaimed in a hushed tone, throwing back the covers as she got out of bed.

Distracted by the silhouette of her body revealed through her nightgown, it took him a moment to confess, “I never even left the balcony.” Setting his duffle down, he took a step forward. “I can’t leave until I ask you something.”

“Ask me what?”

Swiping his tongue over his lips, he took another step and said, “What if... I stayed?”

“What?”

“What if I said,” Two more steps. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You… You don’t?”

Killian shook his head, and continued to move towards her. “What if I told you I want the chance to make this, _us_ , real?” She did her part to close the distance between them, meeting him at the corner of the bed with hope radiating from her eyes. “What if I don’t give a bloody damn the baby isn’t mine? What if I already think of it as my own anyway?”

“You do?”

With a trembling hand, he reached up and cupped her face, caressing the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “What if…” Leaning in, his lips hovered over hers as he whispered, “I love you.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Emma could scarcely breathe. She hadn’t been able to take a full, unhindered breath since closing the door on her mother and changing into her nightgown. Sobs of anguish had choked her lungs while hot tears of longing had burned her eyes, believing he’d gone. Believing it was too late.

But he’d never even left, and was now standing before her declaring things she’d never dared hope he might feel. He wanted to stay, wanted to make their pretense real, wanted to be here for her and her child, permanently. He already felt like a part of her family, already felt like a father to her baby, already… loved her.

And she loved him, too.

Surging forward, Emma took hold of his lips, pouring all that she felt for him into the kiss. He responded instantly, gripping her waist and pulling her flush to him as his tongue made her lightheaded from the sultry way it slid against hers… or maybe that was her need for air?

“I love you, too,” she panted, flicking her eyes up to his and drinking in the elation spilling out from his forget-me-not gaze and wide smile.

Sliding her hands up his chest, she began to undo the buttons of his shirt while laying fresh kisses and light nips to the length of his neck. A groan erupted from deep within his throat, sending vibrations straight through her until they settled between her thighs with a throbbing ache. His hands fisted the fabric of her nightdress and his head fell back as her tongue continued to trace the cords of his neck and outline of his collarbone.

“Emma.”

The wrecked way he uttered her name prompted her fingers to work faster, tempted to just rip away the remaining buttons in favor of getting his shirt off him as quickly as possible so she could finally run her fingers over the planes of his chest and torso, letting the hair there tickle her palms.

When the last button was finally released, Killian dipped his head to steal another kiss, moaning at the sensation of having her hands explore every inch of exposed skin.

“We don’t have to do this right now,” he weakly protested when she stripped his shirt from his shoulders, attempting to free his arms from the fabric.

“But I want to,” she mumbled against his mouth. “Don’t you want to?”

“You’ve no idea how much. Believe me. I just…”

Reluctantly, she broke off the kiss and stared up at him with concern furrowing her brow. “Just what?”

His tongue ran over his swollen lips, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob. Despite the passion with which he had fervently been kissing her back, it hadn’t escaped her notice that his hands hadn’t moved from where they were anchored at her hips, and her heart began to race as she waited for him to continue.

“I just want you to be sure, to take a moment and truly consider things, to know that I’m okay if you’d rather wait.”

“Wait for what exactly? Marriage?” Emma questioned with a small bit of playful sass. He was so adorable when he tried to do the gentlemanly thing, as though she couldn’t feel through the front of his trousers just how much he didn't actually want her to reconsider. “I hate to break it to you Killian, but that ship has technically sailed.”

A chuckle rumbled through his chest, reverberating against her palms. “Fair point.”

“I don’t want to wait,” she told him, her hands skimming back down his torso, making the muscles jump and contract beneath her touch. “I want you. Now, tonight.”

“Well then, far be it from me to not give my wife exactly what she wants.”

A shiver ran up Emma’s spine in response to him calling her his wife like that, and her hands fumbled for his belt as her lips moulded to his once more.

His hands skimmed up her back from where they’d rested at her hips, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Wrapping his fingers around the straps of her nightgown, he peeled them down her arms, exposing her breasts to the cool air of the room and the coarse hair of his chest when he pulled her in tighter after her garment pooled at her feet. She practically melted against him at the way his strong hand kneaded the back of her neck, gently yet insistently, maneuvering her head into a position that allowed him to deepen the kiss, stealing her breath and her previous single-mindedness towards getting his damned pants off. When his other hand brushed against her breast, teasing the underside of it with his calloused fingers before palming its heft and giving it a firm squeeze, she couldn’t help the hiss of pain and involuntary recoil that followed.

“Swan?” Killian’s voice was drenched with concern. “What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“It’s fine,” she assured him, the ache already subsiding. “My breasts are just tender from the…” Her words trailed off, her eyes shutting in mortification. It was one thing for him to mention her condition moments ago during heartfelt declarations, and another entirely to remind him in the heat of the moment that she was currently carrying another man’s child.

The warmth of his presence enveloped her when he stepped forward, closing the gap she’d created.

“Then I’ll just have to be more careful,” he murmured into her skin, softly pulling a nipple into his mouth and bathing it with the slick heat of his tongue.

Braced by his splayed hands supporting her, Emma leaned back and threaded her fingers through his hair, giving herself over to the sensations of familiarizing herself with his touch and the new ways in which her body responded.

“Bloody gorgeous you are,” Killian growled between her breasts. “And the sounds you make. I don’t know if I can wait much longer to have you.”

“Then don’t.”

That was the only prompting he needed. Before she knew it, Emma was hoisted up into his arms by the backs of her thighs, then deposited onto the center of their bed where she watched him shed the rest of his clothes. Her eyes widened, brows shooting up her forehead as her lips parted at the sight of his erection. Granted, she’d only had one other lover, but Neal had been rather boastful of his prowess in comparison to other men. With the proof of his overexaggerated embellishment standing proud and slightly intimidating before her, Emma nearly laughed before swatting away any further thoughts of Neal and his lies, and focused instead on the man slowly crawling his way up her body, ready to replace and improve upon every experience she’d ever had before him.

“Tell me again,” she pleaded, desperate for the reassurance that this time she wasn’t wrong about the man she was about to give herself to.

“I love you, Emma,” he replied on a reverent breath, resting his forehead against hers with his body braced on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her while positioning himself between her legs. “I love you so bloody much, and I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

She gasped when his length grazed through her folds, not realizing just how ready her body had become for him. Lifting himself up caused fringe to fall over his forehead. Reaching up, Emma brushed it away from his eyes, which were staring down at her lovingly, making her feel even more flushed and anxious for them to become one with each other.

“Your turn,” he rasped. “Tell me again that you want this.”

“I want this,” she replied, rolling her hips into his, drawing out gasps and moans from them both. “I want you. I love you, Killian.”

One more kiss taken from her lips and he peered down their bodies, lining himself up with her entrance before slowly pushing his way inside. She groaned at the delicious burn and stretch of his initial thrust, then whimpered when he withdrew. Intently, he watched her with hooded, desire-darkened eyes, on the lookout for any signs of her discomfort as he entered her again, deeper and faster than he had the first time. When he was finally seated fully inside, his eyes fell shut and an expression she’d never seen cross his face before sent a fresh swell of want straight to her core.

“Killian,” she moaned. “Move. Please, God. Move!”

His eyes slid open, the darkened desire now ablaze with a fresh hunger, and a feral looking grin pulled at his lips. “As you wish.”

From the primal set of his features and the wild tone he used to practically purr his response, Emma expected him to take her hard and fast. Instead, his movements were slow, languid, and thorough in their worship of her body, guiding her lovingly to the edge where her pleasure awaited. Each roll of his hips hit her perfectly, causing her legs to shake and her back to arch in an attempt to create more friction.

“That’s it, love,” he whispered into her ear. He let go of her hand, having reached up earlier to thread their fingers together, and shifted his position until he was on his knees between her legs. “I can feel you getting close. Wait for me?”

“Yes,” she panted. “Yes, God, yes. Come with me! Killian, I--”

She’d tried to wait for him, really she did, but when he wet his thumb and began massaging her clit, it was no use. A kaleidoscope of colors burst behind her eyelids as a hot wash of ecstasy cascaded through her. She was only vaguely aware of Killian’s now frantic movements, slamming into her again and again until his hips stuttered and he convulsed deep within her, his guttural moans sending fresh bursts of euphoric tremors through her nerve endings.

Chest heaving with his fringe once again having fallen across his forehead, sticking to it slightly from the thin sheen of perspiration covering them both, he moved again. She groaned a protesting sound when he slipped out of her, but then sighed contentedly when he collapsed beside her and gathered her in his arms. The soft press of his lips lingered behind her ear, and for the first time she became aware of the scratch of his stubble, wriggling in his embrace from the way it tickled her shoulder.

“Something the matter, love?” Killian questioned with a teasing tone, rubbing his scruffy cheek against her skin. “I thought you liked my beard.”

“I do,” she giggled. “Just not when it’s being used to torture me.”

“If you think this is torture,” he purred, rolling them so she was beneath him once more. “Wait until you experience how it feels rubbing the inside of your thighs.”

With a waggle of his brows he disappeared down the length of her body, the burn of his beard the last thing Emma remembered before being swept back up into swells of pleasure.

~/~

Killian pulled at the tight collar of the tuxedo shirt being fitted to him, a hiss escaping his lips when the sharp prick of a needle scraped his skin.

“I need you to be still, please, Mr. Jones,” the tailor reminded him… again.

For the past two weeks Killian had endured a number of fittings. Ever since the announcement of his and Emma’s marriage had hit the papers, the estate had been flooded with cards, gifts, and a never ending parade of people from all levels of society, wanting to quell their curiosities over the newest member of the Nolan clan. His new status required a new wardrobe, according to George and Mary Margaret, so Killian had spent his days being measured, draped, pinned, and outfitted with new suits and dress shirts, with today’s torment being that of the tuxedo he would wear at the lavish reception George was planning for them in London.

While his days had been occupied with a whirlwind of changes that, at times, left his head spinning, his nights were spent in a much more enjoyable fashion… making love to his wife.

His wife. While he could still scarcely believe it, he would never stop being grateful for whatever stroke of fate brought them together on that train platform. Would never not be humbled by Emma’s love and trust, which she expressed not only with their intimate explorations as they familiarized themselves with one another’s body night after night, but in the way she refused to allow him to return to the floor after their first time together.

_“Stay,” Emma insisted sleepily, thoroughly spent from the enjoyable activities they’d shared over the past several hours._

_“Swan,” Killian protested, her arms tightening around him. “I don’t want to risk it. What if I…”_

_“No more what ifs,” she admonished. “You belong in this bed… with me.” Opening her eyes, she peered up at him through the darkness, the moonlight barely catching her irises and making them sparkle. “I know you’re worried you’ll hurt me, but I’m not. I’m more worried about you having to face these nightmares alone, so please.” She brought up a hand to card through his hair before running her fingertips down his face and over his lips, where he instinctively pressed a soft kiss against their pads. “Stay, and we can deal with them like we have every other obstacle… together.”_

_“As you wish.”_

He experienced no nightmares that night. Indeed, most nights his sleep had been sound and restful, with only a few occasions of having their torments visited upon him. Even in those rare cases, they had not produced the violent reactions he’d sometimes fallen victim to. Only a few moans and changes in his breathing to alert his Swan of his plight, allowing her to wrap him in her arms and soothe away the pain and panic with gentle brushes of her lips against his skin.

The thought of his wife’s touch had its usual effect, and Killian shifted his stance to accommodate the sudden expanse in his trousers, which, in turn, caused another prick of the tailor’s needle.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath, jaw clenching and hands balling into fists at his sides.

“Perhaps, it’s time to take a break,” a voice called out from the doorway.

Killian’s eyes met those of his father-in-law in the reflection of the mirror in front of him, an amused smirk tilting the corners of the older man’s lips as he leaned against the doorframe with his arms casually crossed over his chest.

“Of course, Mr. Nolan,” the tailor responded, carefully removing the shirt pieces partially pinned around Killian’s torso. “We’ll resume later this afternoon, Mr. Jones.”

“Fan-bloody-tastic,” Killian muttered under his breath while pulling on his under shirt on his way to the door.

The chuckle escaping David told him his petulance had not gone unnoticed, but he didn’t really care. He was ready for the dog and pony show to be over so he could focus on his future with Emma and their child; a future that now stretched out before him with vibrant splashes of green as he and David emerged from the manor and out onto one of the sprawling lawns. Drawing in a deep breath, Killian allowed the sweet smell of summer grasses and pungent evidence of livestock to try and calm him as best they could. For so long, only the brine of the ocean could provide him both solace and invigoration, and Killian hoped that one day the fragrance that accompanied toiling the earth would sustain him as well as taming the seas.

A rough clap to his back jarred him from his brief repose, and he followed David to a small table, already set with a tray of lemonade.

“I thought you could use some time away from all… that,” David said, gesturing vaguely back towards the house as the men sat and poured themselves a hearty glass.

“I remember the shock of being thrown into the deep end of society when Mags and I arrived here with Emma,” he mused after taking a large swallow of lemonade. “Well-wishers wanting to express their condolences over James, gossip mongers ready to pounce on the newest tidbits our arrival provided, as well as genuine welcomes from those we would be building a life alongside out here on the estate. Mags was in her element, brought up to act as hostess, but I… well, let’s just say I know how you’re feeling.”

“I thought George didn’t approve of Mary Margaret at first because she wasn’t from _the right sort of family_?”

“He didn’t,” David confirmed, his thumb tapping against the patterned glass. “His issue wasn’t about her family’s station, though. It was about the scandal.”

Killian choked on the sip he was taking from his glass. After a few stifled coughs he sputtered, “Scandal? What scandal?”

“Mags’ mother died when she was young,” he began. “And her father remarried, to a woman much younger than he, which raised a few eyebrows.”

“While questionable, I don’t see how George could find that scandalous,” Killian said, leaning back in his chair and giving David his full attention. “Such a practice is not unheard of.”

“It was the suspicious nature of her father’s death, and the subsequent banishment of Mary Margaret from her family home by her widowed, and now very wealthy, step-mother that George took issue with,” David stated before taking another long sip of lemonade so Killian had time to process that bombshell.

No wonder Emma had feared a scandal when she found herself pregnant out of wedlock. She’d most likely been raised under whatever stigma society had branded her mother with, having been embroiled in such a juicy tale of notorious intrigue. Killian knew that George and James had come to England at the end of the Great War, just months after Emma’s parents were married and her Grandmother Ruth had passed. Was the scandal part of the reason George had left America, and his other son, behind? Emma had said on the train that she didn’t care about being disowned, but would never forgive herself if George took out his anger on her parents. She had probably deduced, as he had, that George had effectively done that once already when he’d left David to his own devices, and wouldn’t hesitate to do so again with the reputation of his family name on the line.

But things were different now. For one, no one ever need know about Emma’s former lover and the shameful way in which he left her. Even if people became suspicious of the timing once the baby was born earlier than expected, due to the adjusted timeline of conception, there was no evidence to suggest the father being anyone other than her husband. Beside that, Emma’s relationship with her grandfather, and his overall connection with the rest of the family, had much improved since the night he’d expressed his remorse for the way he’d allowed things to become between them all. A fact that David took the opportunity of this quiet moment together to express gratitude over.

“I don’t know what you said to my father the night of the fire, but… It’s changed everything. For the better. And for that, I want to thank you.”

An unpleasant prickle of discomfort crept up the back of Killian’s neck, and he waved the man off as he topped off his glass. “I’m not entirely sure what all I said in the heat of the moment that could have possibly made an impact on the man, so no thanks required, mate.”

That wasn’t true, of course. Killian remembered exactly what he’d said to George, what revelations had befallen both of them during that heated exchange, but he wasn’t of a mind to relive those emotions right now lest he end up revealing more than he ought.

“My brother James was always closer to George when we were growing up,” David recalled in a tone of fond nostalgia. “Mother used to say they were cut from the same cloth, while I favored my birth father’s ways.”

Killian settled back in his seat, sensing his father-in-law had need to tell the tale that was tripping over his lips; a tale he’d most certainly been bottling up inside himself for too many years.

“I knew I had disappointed him with my defiance in marrying Mary Margaret. And again when I chose to stay and work the Swan family farm rather than follow them both to England. I wanted so badly to prove myself to him. To both of them. George and my birth father, whose family lands had been handed down for generations until they finally became my responsibility. One I failed at.”

“What happened,” Killian gently prompted when David fell silent for several long moments.

“The Depression,” he answered, bitterly, before turning his eyes up to Killian’s with a pained look that Killian recognized all too well, “Then my brother’s death.” Inhaling a shuddering breath, David curbed the emotion welling up from within and pressed on. “I tried to hold on to the property for as long as I could, but once I received news of James’ death, I just… By the time George arrived back with my brother’s body so he could be interred with our mother as requested, I’d lost the land completely. Foreclosed upon by the bank and already resold. George was furious.”

“For falling victim to a national crisis that bankrupted millions?” Killian questioned a bit scornfully.

“For not realizing I was in over my head and asking for help,” David answered. Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table top, and imparted, “All these years, I thought my father didn’t trust me with the estate and lands, because of what had happened with the Swan farm. I thought that was why he was so reluctant to listen whenever I talked of modernizing. But over these past two weeks we’ve had a chance to clear the air, and it turns out…” David swallowed tightly, his Adam’s apple protesting against some unseen lump that had formed in the man’s throat. “It was never about that. It was because of how devastated I’d been, how wrecked and broken the thought of failing both my fathers had left me. And how… how it had broken his heart to see me hurting like that. How much it had hurt him to wound my pride in order to get me to agree to come here so I could provide for my family once more.” David’s eyes misted over, and he shook his head in residual disbelief from whatever conversation he’d shared with his father. “All this time, he’s been afraid that modernizing would put too great a burden on me, an unnecessary one. He thought he was protecting me.” Killian felt his own throat tighten at the sight of his father-in-law’s chin quiver. “I always thought he preferred James. That he was angry at me for being the one that lived, but he…”

Killian reached across the table and placed a hand on David’s forearm, while the man composed himself. When at last their eyes met, Killian gave him a nod of solidarity and shared, “After my father ran out on us, the man who owned the shipping company he worked for at the docks, Nemo, took Liam and I under his wing. I often thought he favored my brother, but I know now it was simply that they had more in common. After Liam died, I… I often thought it should have been me. That it ought to be Liam who gets to return and pay Nemo back for all he did for us.” Killian cast his eyes down towards the surface of the table, unable to meet David’s gaze as he told him, “Liam and I had planned to go into business with Nemo after the war, but everything has changed now, and I worry I’ll disappoint them both by not returning. That Nemo will think I took advantage of his kindness, and Liam...”

“Have you reached out to Nemo?” David inquired. “Told him any of this?”

Pulling back his hand, Killian sat back and sighed. “I sent him word of Liam’s death after the fact, but it wasn’t until last week, when I sent out notices to the war office, old friends, and other necessary businesses, informing them of my new address that I had the nerve to write him. I know I should call him. He deserves that, but…”

David nodded, fully comprehending the turmoil Killian was feeling.

“I did add him to the guest list for the reception, though,” Killian said. “Maybe by then I’ll--”

“Killian,” David interrupted with a pensive expression. “I don’t want you to feel as though you owe me anything either.” Killian’s cocked head and quirked brow prompted the man to further explain. “You and Emma don’t have to stay here if you’d rather go back home and make good on the plans you and your brother had. If you’d rather build your life with Nemo’s company, I wouldn’t hold that against you.”

“I appreciate that, mate,” Killian said, thickly, torn with how to respond.

Before he had the chance, David added, “But I also want you to know, that even though I didn’t know your brother, I don’t think he would hold it against you if you chose to stay here, either.”

Feeling a bit choked up once again, Killian said, “I wish you all could have met him, my brother. And that he would have had a chance to meet Emma and…” He nearly slipped up, tears burning his eyes at the thought that Liam would never meet the niece or nephew Emma currently carried, or any others they might be blessed with later on in the future.

“I think you would have liked my brother,” David said, ignoring the awkward way in which Killian’s words had halted while giving him a teasing half smile. “He was a bit of a scoundrel, too.”

Killian chuckled. “Aye. And you would have liked my brother,” he reciprocated, cheekily. “He could be a stubborn arse.”

Both men laughed and took another drink of their refreshment as one of the footmen approached, gaining the men’s attention.

“Post for you, Mr. Jones,” the young man said, setting a small tray that contained a stack of letters and a letter opener in front of Killian before then addressing his employer. “I’ve already placed your post in the study, Mr. Nolan.”

David sighed and finished off his glass while the footman departed. “I suppose I should get back to it,” he lamented as he stood. “Besides, you have a penguin suit to get back to.”

“Don’t remind me,” Killian grumbled, picking up the top envelope and slicing it open as his father-in-law came around and patted him encouragingly on the shoulder before retreating back into the house.

The first few letters were from men he’d served with. Each expressed their astonishment (and a fair amount of ribbing), over the news of his marriage, with regrets that they would not be able to attend his wedding celebration, seeing as how they were unable to get shore leave on such short notice. Killian had expected as much, but the confirmation still left him feeling bereft that there would be very few familiar and friendly faces in attendance.

The second to last letter did provide at least one assurance that someone from his past would be there to celebrate his future. Nemo had written back with his best regards, but the joy Killian could read between the lines penned on the page left a pit within his stomach. How was he going to tell Nemo he wouldn’t be returning? That he’d squandered the opportunity to pay the man back for all he had done for him and Liam when he’d gambled away his savings.

Killian supposed he should be grateful that he had that as an excuse. Even if he did still have the funds to buy into that future, he was relatively sure he did not want it anymore. Looking around at the bustling estate, Killian couldn’t imagine raising his and Emma’s children anywhere but here, and yet… he couldn’t deny that a part of him yearned for the sea.

Still wrestling with his longings, Killian opened the final letter and felt the fates must surely be testing him.

_Dear Captain Jones:_

_I apologize that this letter took some time in reaching you, as I was only just informed of your new address from the war office. As your brother, Liam Jones’, executor, it is my duty to inform you that your late brother named you as his sole beneficiary. Noted below are the various investments I made at your brother’s request with the surplus of his military earnings, many of which have already paid out its dividends. I have transferred these funds into an account in your name, the details of which I have listed below._

_Should you have any questions, I am available during the business hours listed. You are welcome to either phone me, or schedule an appointment to visit my London office in person whenever you have need of my services._

_Sincerely,_

_Archibald Hooper, Esq._

Killian’s eyes traveled down to the bottom of the page, and he stared at the astounding amount listed.

“Bloody hell.”

~/~

“No.”

“Liam, no.”

“Brother! Please!”

“No!.”

Emma was jostled awake by Killian’s fitful movements, his gut-wrenching laments and throes of anguish acting as a potent stimulant as she quickly sat up, switched on her lamp, then attempted to lead him out of his nightmare.

“Killian,” she said softly but firmly, taking hold of his shoulders and giving them a gentle shake. “Killian, wake up. It’s just a dream. Killian, I need you to wake up now.”

When she reached up to caress his face his eyes flew open and he bolted upright, a look of panic and confusion etched across his features.

“Hey,” Emma soothed, crawling towards him on her knees and turning his face towards hers. “It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here.”

“Swan?” he panted, running a shaky hand down his sweat covered face as comprehension of his surroundings returned. His eyes widened once that awareness fully rooted itself and he reached out to run his hands over her. “Are you alright? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, allowing him to take his time in looking her over so he might be reassured of that for himself. Once he seemed convinced he collapsed back onto the bed, pulling her down on top of himself and wrapping his arms around her.

They laid together for a while before Emma spoke again, allowing him time to get his breathing back under control and relax under the gentle ministrations of her touch as she drew nonsensical patterns through his chest hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She expected him to reject her offer as he had every other time she’d asked him to share his burdens with her. As the minutes stretched on it seemed likely that once he finally did answer, it would be to tell her he was fine and that she should get some sleep. Instead, he prompted her to sit up while he leaned over and took something out of the top drawer of his bedside table.

“Your father and I had a long talk today,” he began in a hushed tone, settling himself against their headboard. “We spoke of a number of things, but one of them was… my brother. How I feel guilty for the way I tarnished his memory by gambling away all my money after he died. How I’ve disappointed him by not being able to follow through on the plans we had.” Emma reached out and took Killian’s hand, squeezing it gently as a show of support. “I worried that I’d disappoint Nemo too once he learned I no longer had the means to make good on the debt I owe him for all he did for us. But in all honesty,” he said, his eyes meeting hers with a mixture of emotions he’d clearly been wrestling with for some time. “I was glad I no longer had the money, because it meant I didn’t have to choose between the life we can have here and the one I still feel obligated to live.” He paused and swallowed hard before handing her the folded piece of paper he’d retrieved moments ago. “But then I received this earlier today, and I… I don’t know what to do.”

Emma unfolded the letter and read the contents, gasping when she reached the end and saw the sizable amount Killian’s brother had left him. Enough to make the brothers Jones’ dream a reality.

“I won’t pretend that I don’t miss the sea,” Killian told her. “But such a venture, even partnering with Nemo, would require weeks, if not months, separated from you and our child. I don’t want that, but…”

“But what?” she pressed lovingly, scooting closer to his side and placing her hand over his heart.

“What if… I’m not cut out for this life?” he said.

Emma could hear from his tone that he’d been harboring these fears for a while, and she forced the dejected feelings that were bubbling up in the face of his unwillingness to confide in her before now out of her mind. He was confiding in her now, wasn’t he?

“What if I never measure up to the standard society and your family have placed on me? George has all these plans, and while your father said he wouldn’t be offended if we chose to make our future elsewhere, I know he has aspirations for you and I to take over the estate someday since Leo’s ambitions lie elsewhere. What if I make a mess of things, Swan? What if I… what if I can’t be the husband you deserve, or the father this child needs me to be?”

Emma hitched up her nightgown and moved to straddle her husband’s lap, taking his startled looking face in her hands. “You listen to me, Killian Jones,” she said, piercing him with her gaze. “I don’t care if we stay here, or move to the seaside, or end up in a shack somewhere faraway. I love you, and so long as we’re together I don’t care about anything else.” Her hands fell down to his shoulders and his snaked their way around her waist, the muscle in his jaw flickering as he tried to heed her words. “I know everything in our lives seems so uncertain right now, and I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, juggling all these expectations you seem to think people have of you, but…” She leaned in and rested her forehead against his. “I want you to know that I’m open to discussing every possibility, that you can talk to me about these things.”

“I know, love,” he sighed. “I thought I had it all worked out in my mind, but then that bloody nightmare came back, and I…” His eyes fluttered shut and his chest stuttered from the uneasy breath he took. “I left him, Swan. I left my brother behind to die because he ordered me to. I could have saved him, but it would have meant countless others under our command would have perished, and I knew he would have never been able to live with that.” Tears slipped from beneath his lashes and a sob choked in the back of his throat. “I just… I want to make my brother proud. I thought I’d lost my chance before, but now, with this inheritance, I…”

“I know,” Emma whispered, wiping away his tears, then her own. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight,” she told him. “You said at dinner that Nemo will be at the reception, right?” Killian’s forehead rubbed against her own as he nodded. “Well, then… we’ll talk to him then. Together. See if investing the money into his company feels right, or if establishing a partnership is even something he’s interested in. Until then, we just focus on the reception plans and figuring out when to tell everyone I’m expecting.”

“Aye, love. You’re right,” Killian murmured, brushing his nose affectionately against hers. “I’ve let myself get worked up into a right state, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Emma said. “Just… come to me when you’re feeling pressured or overwhelmed by it all. I know you want to protect me from the parts of yourself you think are damaged and broken, but Killian, I don’t think of you as broken.” His chest shuddered again, and fresh tears began streaming from his eyes. “You are not broken,” she repeated, kissing away his tears.

His hands fisted the fabric at the back of her nightgown and he crushed her to his chest, pouring out months, perhaps even years, worth of heartache into the crook of her neck. Emma simply held him through the release, whispering words of love and comfort as she stroked her hand through the wisps of hair sticking out from the back of his head until, at last, his tears were spent.

“Come on,” she said, climbing off his lap and settling back into bed, urging him to snuggle in close. “Let’s go back to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

He didn’t put up any bit of protest, moulding himself to her back and nuzzling his face into her hair so he could place soft kisses along her shoulders.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispered.

His voice, while thick and raw from the ravages of his emotional release, sounded lighter and more at peace than it had in days, and for that, Emma was grateful. Killian had given her so much, had sacrificed so much, that she was willing to do whatever she could to make him happy. Even if that meant leaving the life she’d always known for one fraught with uncertainty. After all, he’d taken to life on land rather well, who was to say she couldn’t do the same as a sea-farer’s wife?

While Killian might still be vacillating between his desires and obligations, Emma couldn’t help but feel that the money he’d received from Liam was some sort of sign. Perhaps, if her grandfather hadn’t already made provisions for her father to modernize the estate, she would have broached the idea that the money could be used for that purpose. But with the future of the estate handled, what other benefit towards their future could that money provide them if not to see Killian and Liam’s original plan come to fruition?

Little did either of them know, someone else would be weighing in on those plans in due course.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

**Chapter 8**

The late morning sun streamed in through the windows looking out over the busy London street. It was a wonder, given how unaccustomed they’d both become to the sounds of such hustle and bustle, that Killian and Emma had slept in as late as they had. Her parents had insisted they have a bit of a lie in that morning, seeing as how they would likely be up well into the early hours of the next morning, celebrating their marriage at the grand reception that had taken a month to plan.

After a leisurely breakfast in bed, Emma had taken advantage of the shower first, and was now standing before the wardrobe in nothing more than her basic undergarments and gaping robe, trying to decide which dress would be the most practical to oversee the final party preparations in. Not that her mother would allow her to do much beyond giving her final okay, knowing how much she and Killian had already done in coordination with the party planner her grandfather had hired to ensure it be both _the_ event of the season and something she and Killian were comfortable with.

Despite all the work, and some unnecessary pomp and circumstance, Emma couldn’t deny that she was excited for the evening. Her gown was a gorgeous confection of lace and silk, the flowers were exotic in both color and fragrance, and the food was decadent, from melt in your mouth canapes to the rich and luscious desserts. Thank goodness her morning sickness had long passed so she could enjoy the feast, especially since she would not be partaking in any of the alcohol that would be poured out in equal grandeur throughout the evening.

She and Killian had already talked through the plan to once again trade off glasses throughout the evening so it would appear as though she was consuming the champagne. Fortunately, they only had to keep up the ruse for a few more days, having already decided to announce her pregnancy once they were back home at the estate. She hoped that with the reception behind them and the truth of her condition no longer a secret, she and Killian might finally be able to settle into the life and future they longed for.

They just had to decide where that life and future would take place.

While they had discussed the matter on a number of occasions, they were no closer to a decision. She worried Killian would bow to the pressure her father and grandfather were applying, and choose to stay at the estate, once again sacrificing his own happiness in favor of something he believed she wanted. While she wouldn’t deny that her heart's desire did include staying with her family and raising their children on the estate, Emma had told Killian over and over again that she would be just as happy making their life on the sea if that was what he truly wanted. After getting nowhere, they’d both agreed to table the conversation until after they’d spoken with Nemo, but the unresolved issue had Emma feeling unsettled. She didn’t like having this potential wedge between her and her husband, but all she could do was stay open and hope that fate might provide them some clue as to the direction they should go.

Shaking off the uncertainties that had started to creep in, Emma plucked a dress of deep plum from where it hung within the wardrobe and closed the door. After laying the outfit on top of her bed, Emma started towards her chest of drawers to gather the remaining undergarments she’d need when her reflection in the wardrobe mirror had her stopping dead in her tracks.

Turning from side to side in order to view herself from every angle, Emma could hardly believe what her eyes were seeing. A small protrusion. The slightest bit of a swell to her lower abdomen. The first physical proof of the baby steadily growing within her womb.

Tenderly, she placed her hands over the bump and drew in a shaky breath as tears pricked the corners of her eyes. With her exhale, a flood of mixed emotions came surging up from the recesses of her being; joy, elation, disbelief, awe, and… panic. For a brief moment, panic absolutely consumed her as she wondered what Killian’s reaction would be. Which she knew was ridiculous. Killian had been nothing but supportive, constantly reassuring her that as far he was concerned the baby she carried was his, in every way that truly mattered.

And yet…

Until now there had been no tangible evidence, only symptoms that could as easily be attributed to a case of the stomach flu. It was one thing to feel certain about something that felt hypothetical, but now the truth was manifesting, and would continue to do so week after week at a continual rate of expansion. What if, when faced with the reality, his feelings about the baby changed? What if, as she continued to swell with another man’s child, his feelings for her changed?

The bathroom door swung open, releasing a billow of steam that preceded Killian’s entrance. Near hysterics as she was, Emma couldn’t even appreciate the sight of him wrapped in nothing but a low slung towel around his waist with droplets littering his shoulders and catching in his chest hair as they fell from his still overly damp hair.

“Emma?” he said, taking in what she could imagine was a look that resembled a deer in headlights. “Love? Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing,” she blurted out a bit too fast and emphatically, earning her a dubious expression as he sauntered towards her.

“Come now, Swan,” he lovingly admonished. “You can lie to everyone else, but not to me. What’s got you all rattled?”

“I…” His brows slowly rose up his forehead in an encouraging arch, and his bright blue eyes were shining in the way they always did when he focused all his care upon her. “I’m starting to show,” she exhaled on a soft breath, certain he couldn’t possibly have heard her.

The way his lips parted, sticking at the corners, as his eyes widened then darted down to her abdomen testified otherwise. Gently, he pulled her hands away from her belly, so he could replace them with the tender caress of his thumbs when his hands wrapped around her waist. His eyes, misty with a fresh sheen of emotion, flicked back up to hers and a watery sound that was half chuckle, half gasp stuttered out of his mouth. With his gaze fixed once more at her middle, he sank down onto one knee and pressed a reverent kiss below her belly button.

“Hello there, little one,” he murmured into her skin, causing relieved and joy filled tears to crest her lashes, matching the ones pooling in his eyes. “I’m your Daddy.”

A jubilant sob escaped her, shaking her entire body and pulling his gaze back up. She could see the moment he saw past the outpouring to the well of turmoil feeding it like a spring; a consoling and commiserating expression besetting his features.

“You were worried I’d be upset, weren’t you?”

Swallowing past the guilt lodged in her throat, she nodded and choked out, “Yes. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he told her, his thumbs lightly running over her abdomen. “I can only imagine how complicated a moment this is for you, but Emma, my love,” he breathed. “Other than the night you told me you loved me, _this_ is quite possibly the happiest moment of my life.” He pressed another kiss over the swell of her stomach, looking up at her through his dark lashes. “And you have never looked more beautiful to me.”

A laugh escaped her. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts, because _this_ ,” she said, pointing to her stomach, “Is only going to get bigger and more unseemly.”

A mischievous grin broke over his face, and his hands shifted, tucking his thumbs beneath the top band of her underwear. “And you’ll be bloody gorgeous with each and every expanding inch,” he purred, dragging her panties down her legs.

“What are you doing?” Emma gasped.

“Showing you just how happy I am, and how much I love you.” He lifted one foot, then the other, tossing her underwear over his shoulder with a devilish grin.

“But… the party. There’s so much to be done,” Emma half protested. Her words coming out on stuttered breaths from the feel of his lips blazing a trail up the inside of her thighs.

“I’m sure your mother has all well in hand,” he said, coaxing her legs further apart. “Just as I intend to have with you.”

Emma’s arm shot out, her hand anchoring to the chair of her vanity when his tongue met the heated and already damp flesh of her sex. She had to further brace herself when he gripped the back of her calf, prompting her to lift her leg up over his shoulder so he could dive deeper between her thighs. Glancing down, she flushed at the sight of him staring up at her. Her nerve endings caught fire from the burning hunger radiating from his eyes, and another swell of desire crested low in her belly from the wicked ministrations of his tongue.

A deep, reverberating moan vibrated from his lips, his eyes fluttering shut from the fresh release of her arousal pooling along his tongue. Emma had no idea how she would maintain her balance once her leg began to shake, but just as he’d promised, Killian had things well in hand. The junction between the tops of her thighs and her backside, that is. Supporting her through the rush of completion sweeping through her like a wildfire moments later.

Moving her hitched leg back off his shoulder, he ensured she was steady as he got to his feet, tracing kisses along the length of her body on his way.

“How’s that, love?” he cheekily inquired against the shell of her ear. “Feeling better? No more concerns?”

“Just one,” Emma replied, placing her hands against his chest.

“Can’t have that,” he said, nosing a ripple of goosebumps down her neck. “What is this pesky, lingering concern?”

With a firm push, Emma backed Killian up until he fell back onto their bed, the precariously wrapped towel falling away during the process.

“That you haven’t had your turn yet,” Emma purred, sinking down to her knees while giving his legs a commanding tug to bring him closer to the edge.

She didn’t give him a chance to respond, wrapping her lips around his hardness and teasing the underside with her tongue like she knew he liked. The mattress bounced from the way he collapsed backward, a groan echoing through the room as thigh muscles tightened and twitched beneath her palms.

They’d had ample time to get to know one another over the last month, and had taken every opportunity and advantage to learn the other’s likes and dislikes. Emma knew it drove her husband crazy when she raked her nails through the thick thatch of hair at his groin, that his hips would buck if she slipped a hand between his legs to fondle him while her mouth worked him over, and that the feel of his fingers running through her hair before cupping the back of her head in order to encourage her pace meant he was close to becoming thoroughly unmanned.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he groaned, fisting her hair a little too tightly. “You have to stop. Please. I don’t… I don’t want to finish like this.”

With one last sucking stroke of her mouth, she released him, then squealed when he unexpectedly hauled her up off her knees and onto the bed, crashing his mouth to hers with a frenzied need. Once again, she pushed against his chest, rolling him onto his back and straddling his hips.

“Might as well start practicing this position,” she teased, settling herself over him with a sultry yet coquettish smile playing at her lips. “We’ll be using it more and more as time goes on.”

“Too right, love,” he agreed with a cheeky smirk of his own; one that quickly fell away, replaced by a look of blissful devastation as she sank down over his length.

Sitting up, he gathered her in his arms, the two of them moving together in a gentle rhythm, drawing out each other’s pleasure, inching closer and closer to the precipice until they fell over the edge of ecstasy clinging to one another. Tremors and shuddering aftershocks were still taking their toll when Killian fell back onto the bed, pulling Emma with him so she was splayed across his chest. His fingers wove a soothing trance over her as they skimmed lightly down her spine, but all too soon their skin began to cool and the need to move became too much to ignore.

“Do you think Mother would notice if we just stayed here until it’s time for the party?” Emma asked, contentedly.

“I have a feeling she might come looking for us sooner or later,” Killian chuckled. “And I don’t think any of us are ready to repeat the _gazebo incident_.”

Emma laughed and rolled off her husband, who expressed his protest with a whimpered groan that had her skin tingling once again. But they _really_ didn’t have time for another go ‘round. Killian was right, and Emma was rather surprised her mother hadn’t already come knocking.

“We should get a move on then,” Emma stated with a small grimace. “But I think I need to shower again.”

“As do I,” Killian affirmed, his voice dropping the octave as his brows waggled seductively. “Perhaps it would be best to shower together? ...For expediency?”

Emma scoffed amusedly. There would be nothing expedient about them showering together, but with the way her husband’s eyes roamed over her with their heated gaze as his hardness returned, twitching with anticipation, she couldn’t help but think that perhaps they _did_ have time for one more round. It was _their_ day of celebration, after all.

~/~

“To the happy couple and their bright future together! To Emma and Killian!” George declared with a raised flute of champagne, mirrored by the dozens of attendees gathered in the grand ballroom.

“To Emma and Killian!”

A chime of clinking crystal echoed through the space, and the crowd cheered when Killian and Emma shared a soft kiss. Killian nuzzled the tip of his nose against Emma’s before pressing his forehead to hers, marveling at the stunning woman wrapped in his arms.

How lucky a bastard was he?

Emma smiled up at him, her eyes catching his from beneath her lashes before they dipped to his lips. With a slight tilt of his head, he pressed one more soft kiss to her mouth then let her take him by the hand so they could make another pass through the ballroom and the guests who were still waiting to be received by the happy couple.

“Am I really expected to remember all these names and titles being thrown at me?” Killian whispered into Emma’s ear as another group beckoned them, eagerly vying for their attention.

“No,” she assured him with a light laugh. “I doubt you’ll ever see many of them again after tonight. Most of them are here in the hopes of being mentioned alongside Grandfather in the society pages, something that will elevate their own social standing,” she explained with a tight smile. “After this lot we’ll find some friendly faces to occupy our time with.”

Killian was very much looking forward to those friendly faces after enduring mind numbing small talk where he was forced to answer the same questions repeatedly whilst maintaining a civil composure in the face of so much snobbery. Not that everyone in attendance was all bad. There had been a few introductions he wouldn’t mind following up with. Couples he could see himself and Emma spending time with whenever they might find themselves in the city, a few gents he could easily become mates with over a pint. So, the evening hadn’t been complete torture.

Something he had to keep reminding himself as the need to loosen his damn collar became more desperate as the night wore on. A feeling he apparently shared with his young brother-in-law who was tugging at his own starched collar with a look of utter misery on his features that Killian could see from across the room.

Wishing to have some pity on the lad, and knowing it would give him his own reprieve, Killian excused himself and Emma from the expectedly banal conversation they’d found themselves in and steered them in Leo’s direction.

“How are you holding up, lad?” Killian inquired, plucking a fresh flute of champagne from a serving tray passing by.

“I’d be doing much better if I could have one of those,” Leo groused with a slant of his head towards the beverage in Killian’s hand. “But Mother made sure to inform all the servants I was only allowed lemonade.”

“Aw, don’t pout, Baby Brother,” Emma needled. “Only a few more years and you can sip champagne until dawn.”

“I could sip champagne now if _someone_ traded me glasses,” Leo stated with a note of conspiratorial hopefulness lacing his words.

“Not a chance,” Emma replied, disapprovingly.

“Aw, come on, Sis,” Leo whined. “You can’t tell me you didn’t sneak a drink or two before you were eighteen.” His vivid green eyes shifted to Killian. “Surely you must have, Killian. Didn’t your big brother sneak you a drink every one in a while?”

Killian opened his mouth to respond, but before he could refute the lad’s assumptions a voice from behind him provided the answer.

“Actually, Liam was a bit of a teetotaler. I was the one who procured Killian’s first drink, hoping it might serve as a lesson on the pitfalls of drunkenness… a lesson I’m quite sure backfired until Liam drug him off to the Navy to get him sorted out.”

Killian couldn’t help the wide grin taking over his face at the sound of Nemo’s voice, and despite all the trepidations he’d been carrying over seeing him again, he did not hesitate to embrace the man he considered a father in every way that had ever mattered.

“Nemo,” Killian greeted, affectionately. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You too, my boy,” Nemo reciprocated with a bit of emotion catching in the back of his throat. “You, too.”

Clearing his own throat, Killian pulled back and wrapped an arm around Emma's waist, pulling her into his side. “Nemo, allow me to introduce you to my wife, Emma, and her brother, Leo Nolan.”

“A pleasure to meet you both,” Nemo said, shaking Leo’s hand before taking Emma’s and placing a polite kiss upon its back. “I can’t tell you how overjoyed I was to hear of your marriage, and if it is not too bold of me, I see that Killian is a very lucky man.”

Emma smiled brightly and turned her eyes up to Killian. “Thank you, Nemo, but in all honesty… I’m the lucky one.”

Leo excused himself, with the pilfered flute of champagne Killian had set aside when making the introductions, and Killian made a mental note to check on the lad later before turning his attention back to Nemo.

“It means so much that you came.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it,” Nemo assured him. “I only wish your brother was with us to help celebrate this happy occasion.”

“Aye,” Killian murmured. “So do I.”

Nemo stepped forward and set a firm hand on Killian’s shoulder. “He would be proud of you, Killian. Never doubt that. You’ve made a fine life for yourself, despite all your hardships, and you’re happy. Which is all Liam and I ever really wanted for you.”

Killian swallowed past the lump that had formed in the back of his throat and nodded his acknowledgement of Nemo’s words, not trusting his voice, or the swell of pent up emotion threatening to break free in that moment.

Sensing Killian’s need to collect himself, Nemo turned the conversation to Emma and asked, “So, tell me how the two of you met. Did this dashing rapscallion sweep you off your feet?” Nemo’s expression turned cheeky and he leaned in to add, “Or perhaps it was the other way around?”

Emma laughed and recounted the tale the two of them had crafted all those weeks ago on the train. Part of Killian felt guilty for lying to Nemo, but he also knew if the man knew the truth of the situation, he probably wouldn’t hold the falsehood against either of them.

“And you intend to make a full-fledged land-lubber out of him, do you?” Nemo ribbed with an affectionate smirk.

“Actually,” Emma replied, furtively casting her eyes up to Killian before settling them back on Nemo. “We were hoping to discuss the matter of our future with you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” she continued. “You see, Killian and his brother had plans for what they wanted to do after the war, and even though Liam is no longer…”

Her words fell away and her face turned up to his once more, allowing him the chance to tell Nemo his and Liam’s plan for himself.

“We wanted to buy into your shipping company,” Killian told him, causing the man’s eyebrows to shoot up his forehead. “You did so much for us, saved us, and we… we wanted to repay the debt of your kindness by investing into the company and perhaps forming a partnership.”

Killian held his breath while Nemo processed the news, his expression inscrutable other than simply being overcome.

“And is this still something you wish to do?” Nemo asked.

_That’s the big question isn’t it?_ Killian thought.

Before he could muster a reply, a flounced woman, whose name he vaguely remembered as Bo… something, descended upon the trio, insisting she simply had to drag Emma away to say hello to someone. Although Emma tried to politely decline, the woman would not relent.

“It’s alright, love,” Killian assured her, releasing the hold he had on her waist. “You go and see to our guests while Nemo and I continue to discuss things.”

“Are you sure?”

“Aye,” he replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her temple. “I’ll be along in a bit.”

Excusing herself, she allowed the woman to lead her across the room, with Killian’s eyes set on her retreating form, and the perfect way in which her gown hugged her curves.

The clearing of Nemo’s throat pulled his focus back to the conversation at hand.

“She’s a fine woman,” Nemo commented with a knowing and amused expression.

“That she is,” Killian agreed, scratching behind his ear and blushing like a knobby-kneed youth who’d just been caught in his first crush.

“Look, Killian,” Nemo began with a more serious and sincere tone. “I appreciate what you and you brother planned to do after the war, but I have to ask you again… Is that truly what _you_ want?”

Killian’s mouth opened, but no words seemed willing to form on his tongue for several seconds. “I want to honor Liam,” he finally admitted. “I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint him… or you.”

“You could never disappoint us, my boy,” Nemo stated, emphatically. “Not by following your heart. And if your heart now lies with something… or someone, other than the sea, well, then…”

“I do still love the sea,” Killian professed. “But Emma…”

Nemo shook his head and breathed out an exasperated chuckle. “Things always were all or nothing with you,” Nemo said. “It’s a commendable trait to have, because it meant once you’d decided something, you were all in. No looking back.” Nemo set his hand upon Killian’s shoulder once more and fixed him with an empathetic stare. “But, Killian… this is not one of those decisions. Your future does not have to be either or. It can be both.”

“What?” Killian balked. He’d never even considered the possibility of having both futures. He wasn’t even sure how such a thing could be managed.

“Stay on at the estate,” Nemo advised. “Learn all you can so one day you can pass your wisdom and knowledge on to your children.” Killian found it difficult to hold the man’s gaze at the mention of children, lest his expression give something away as to how soon such a reality would present itself. “And while you are overseeing the affairs of the estate and your family-” Nemo reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, “-you can also manage this.”

Killian took the paper from Nemo’s hand, his eyes widening with disbelief when he opened it and read through its contents.

“A ship?” he exhaled. “You’re giving me a ship?”

“Well, controlling interest in her, but yes,” Nemo responded with a broad grin. “I’m giving you a ship. My wedding gift.”

Killian’s eyes darted back up to Nemo’s. “I… I can’t accept this. It’s too much. I was going to use the money Liam left me to invest in the company properly. I can’t--”

“You can, and you will,” Nemo admonished, cutting him off. “Don’t think I’m giving this to you with complete altruism,” Nemo said, cheekily. “While overseeing the ship as a trustee won’t require your ongoing presence, it _will_ involve consistent communication between you and my company, and occasional visits so you can keep abreast of things first hand. Which means… We’ll always have an excuse to keep in touch and see one another.” Nemo pointed to a clause within the notice, and informed, “It also means that the interest you hold can be expanded upon at any time, or… transferred to a dependent, in case you find the sea is in your sons or daughters’ blood and wish for them to have a legacy upon the waves as well.

For the second time that night, Killian let proper decorum be damned and pulled Nemo in for a hearty hug. “Thank you,” he murmured into the man’s shoulder. “You’ve no idea what this means to me.”

Until that moment, Killian didn’t think he’d even realized how much Nemo’s words and gift would mean. As the two men stood there, roughly patting the other on the back with firm slaps of affection, Killian could feel a weight lift from his shoulders. He didn’t have to choose between all the loves of his life. There was room for all of them in the future he planned with Emma. A bright future filled with love and family and opportunity and legacies that could be passed down to their children, regardless of where their own hearts might lead them. Knowing he could quite literally give his and Emma’s child the world - land _and_ sea - was the best present he could have hoped for, and he couldn’t wait to share the good news with his Swan.

“Go,” Nemo told him, knowingly, when the two broke apart. “I have a feeling your wife could do with some rescuing, and the two of you deserve a quiet moment together.”

Killian wasted no time in taking Nemo’s advice, crossing the ballroom with long, purposeful strides and whisking his love away from the throng. A giggle spilled over her lips as he led them out into the back gardens. Finding a corner of solitude among the hedges, he silenced her amusement with a devouring kiss that left them both breathless and desperately clinging to one another.

“Easy there, Tiger,” Emma panted. “Remember, we’ve got company.”

“Sod the guests,” Killian growled against her throat. “Haven’t we mingled with them enough?”

Another laugh erupted from her in response to his petulant tone, and she leaned back so she could take his face in her hands. “Just a little bit longer,” she promised. “Then you can take me upstairs and have your wicked way with me where no one is likely to stumble upon us.”

Killian sighed, and relented his arduous intentions… temporarily. “I’m going to hold you to that,” he purred. “Because I’ve thought of little else than peeling this glamorous gown off your gorgeous body ever since I first saw you descending the stairs earlier.”

The sight of her draped in ivory silk overlaid with lace had made his heart constrict and the front of his trousers swell. A vision of ethereal elegance and grace, each soft curve of her form was enhanced by the sensual yet demure cut of the gown, doing remarkable things for her figure while slowly driving him insane all evening.

“You know,” she said in a soft and quiet tone of contemplation with meaningfully pinched brows that had him quickly setting aside his lust. “Earlier, I was thinking of the things you said to me on our wedding night. The promise you made.” Her eyes peered up into his, swimming with emotion. “You said, one day I would get to wear the dress I’d always dreamed of, with exotic flowers and jealous socialites surrounding me as I made my way to a groom who’d be wondering how he ever got so lucky as to have me as his bride. Remember?”

“Aye, love. I remember.”

She worried her lip for a moment then continued, “It occurred to me, when we were standing before all our guests, receiving toasts and well wishes, that tonight is the fulfillment of that promise, and you know what I realised?”

“What’s that, Swan?”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, her fingers toyed with his hairline as she pressed her forehead against his, her eyes closing before she confessed, “I wouldn’t trade our gazebo wedding for anything. The memory of that day means more to me than anything, especially now that I’ve had a chance to experience that which I thought I’d always wanted.” Lids fluttering open, her viridian gaze sparkled in the moonlight as she earnestly inquired, “Now, tell me what Nemo said. Tell me we get to make good on the promise I gave you that night as well. The one with the office that overlooks the sea, and the mahogany desk covered in payroll ledgers and cargo manifests.”

Killian chuckled and tightened his arms around her waist, eager to tell her everything that had transpired during his conversation with Nemo. Before he got the chance, the sound of a snapping twig caused both of them to cast their attentions towards a dark row of hedges off to their left. A sense of dread, like they were being watched, washed over Killian, prickling his skin as he released Emma and moved to put himself between her and the unknown presence he could sense.

“Who’s there?” Killian questioned. “Show yourself.”

The shadows twisted and morphed to reveal a man making his way out of the darkness. Emma gasped and tensed at the sight of him.

“You?” she exclaimed in a hushed tone of surprise. “What the hell are _you_ doing here?”

“You know him?” Killian asked, keeping the man in question in his sights. “Emma?” he prompted, when she failed to answer, still too absorbed in her shock.

“I’m guessing she never mentioned me,” the man said with a hard bite applied to his words. “So, allow me to introduce myself.” The man stepped forward and held out his hand, a smug sneer twitching at his lips as he revealed himself to be, “Cassidy. Neal Cassidy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments and flails. I am so sorry I haven't felt up to responding to them. In case you weren't aware, my father passed away three weeks, so things have been difficult during this season. Fortunately, I had these chapters already written, so I've been able to stay on schedule with posting, and I am hopeful I can get the final one finished in time as well. If it is a little late, I hope you'll understand. I hope you also know how much your comments and encouragement means to me, even if I'm not up to responding to them at this time. Much love to you all!! xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The final installment! Thank you for all the lovely comments and the show of support. I TRULY appreciate it, and hope you enjoy the conclusion of the story! xoxo

* * *

**Chapter 9**

The garden was spinning. The dark hour of the night crept along the edges of Emma’s vision, closing in with a tunneling effect that left her feeling off balance.

Until she remembered to breathe.

What the hell was he doing here? How had he found out who she really was, and where to find her?

Beside her, Killian went rigid as Neal introduced himself, his features darkening, nostrils flaring, and his jaw ticking as he glanced down at the proffered hand. Emma’s hands balled into fists at her sides when a goading look crossed Neal’s face.

“I’m--”

“I know who you are,” Killian stated through clenched teeth. “And you have some nerve showing your face here.”

Neal seemed unfazed by Killian's anger. In fact, if Emma didn’t know any better, she'd have thought he was surprised by Killian’s admission.

“Do you?” he said. “I wondered whether she told you. Thought maybe she’d found herself a dupe to pass off the kid to. Wouldn’t be the first time she lied to a lover. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Killian took a lunging step forward, but Emma grasped onto his arm before he could make good use of his own fists.

“When I saw you two trading champagne flutes back and forth so it would look like Emma was drinking, I figured he knew you were knocked up, but I wasn’t sure whether he knew the whole truth.”

“You… you’ve been here this whole time?” Emma questioned. “How? How did you even know--”

“I saw the announcement in the paper. Nice photo, by the way,” he told them with a heavy dose of snark. “I got hired on as supplemental staff for the party.”

“Why?” Emma demanded. “What possible reason could you have for coming here? If you think for even a moment that I would consider taking you back, then you are absolutely out of your mi--”

She was cut off by his laugh; a dismissive and insulting sound that forced her to tighten her hold on Killian’s arm.

“No, no, sweetheart,” he said, wiping away the amusement at his eyes. “I came to offer you something.”

“Offer me what?”

“Call it a wedding gift.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, Neal pulled out envelope.

It took her a moment to realize what he was holding, but once she did, her stomach fell away and gasp caught in her throat as she choked out, “My letter.”

“Aw, you guessed it,” Neal taunted with a fake pout. “Yep, it’s the letter you sent me. The one telling me you’re pregnant and that the baby is mine. I thought you might want a chance to get it back before I… well… before I shop it around to interested parties.”

“You’re blackmailing me?”

Neal’s face scrunched with feigned disgust. “Blackmail is such an ugly word. I’d prefer to think of it as offering you an opportunity to buy back something that might otherwise cause a scandal to--”

“What’s your price?” Killian asked in a steely tone of hushed menace.

Once again, Neal didn’t appear troubled. If anything, the entire affair seemed to amuse him.

There was nothing amusing about the number that slid off his tongue a moment later, however.

“Have you lost your mind?” Emma exclaimed, only barely managing to keep her voice down, lest their guests or any of the staff that might be milling about should overhear. Honestly, she was surprised her family hadn’t already sent someone to come find them. “I’m not giving you a single--”

“We’ll pay.”

“What?” Emma’s eyes snapped up to her husband’s, incredulous at the fact he would agree to pay Neal’s blackmail. “Killian, no! I’ll tell my family the truth.”

“It isn’t your family I’m worried about,” he told her. His hardened gaze was still fixed on Neal. “It’s the scandal it’ll cause. It’s what society will think.”

With a soft prompting of her hand beneath his chin, Emma pulled his focus away from Neal and down to her. “I don’t care about the scandal. I don’t care what society thinks of me.”

Killian’s brows became pinched and his lips pressed together before he replied in a pained whisper, “What about the baby?” His jaw tightened and his Adam’s apple bobbed briefly as he swallowed down whatever feelings were trying to rise to the surface. “I don’t want this child growing up with the label of ‘bastard’ hanging over it, do you?”

Emma stood silent for a long moment, her heart aching at the thought of what their child would endure from society, from their peers, the stain of her indiscretion snapping at their heels all their life. Killian was right. She didn’t want that for their child, but there was no way she could come up with the amount Neal was asking for without raising a number of questions; a fact she whispered to Killian in a tone of despair.

“Perhaps not,” Killian replied with resolve. “But I can.”

Emma’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. “No!” she protested. “You can’t use Liam’s money for this!”

“I can think of no better use for it than to protect my wife and child.”

The flutter of Emma’s heart from the way Killian’s eyes fell to her abdomen with an expression of such tenderness and protective zeal was stunted by Neal’s snorting scoff. “ _Your_ child?” Crudely, Neal’s gaze ran over Emma as he indecently quipped, “I think you forgot who got there first, buddy.”

This time, Emma didn’t stop Killian’s arm from rearing back before letting his fist fly, decking Neal and landing the odious man on his backside.

“Get. Out,” Killian growled menacing as he loomed over Neal’s prone form. “You’ll have your money Monday morning. Meet me here an hour after the banks open and we will settle the matter once and for all. After that… We’d best not ever see you again.”

The reality of Killian’s fury finally seemed to permeate Neal’s dull-witted senses. After picking himself up off the ground, he swallowed awkwardly and mumbled an acknowledging, “Monday then,” before skulking out of the garden.

Emma pressed a hand to her chest in a vain attempt to soothe the ache that was growing exponentially from within. Her shoulders shook from the shuddering breaths forcing themselves in and out of her lungs as she fought back the angry and guilt-riddled tears burning behind her eyelids. Killian’s arms enveloped her, drawing her into his embrace with murmurs of comfort muffled into her intricately coiffed hair. A tender brush of his lips over her temple was the final straw. How could he be showing her such care and compassion after what had just transpired?

“I’m so sorry,” she said into his shoulder, choking back a sob. “I’m so, so sorry, Killian. Truly. I never… I never meant to…” Pushing against his chest, she stepped back and wrapped her arms protectively around herself. “I bet you regret ever meeting me on that train platform.”

An alarmed expression of bewilderment took over Killian’s features, and he reached out to take hold of her once more. “Why would you even think that?”

He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away the errant tears that broke free from her lashes.

“If not for me, you would be back home with Nemo right now. Using your brother’s money to finance the life you wanted instead of being stuck with--”

“Enough,” he declared with a firm yet loving tone, tilting her face upwards so she was forced to look upon him. “I regret nothing of that day, Emma. I regret nothing of the weeks we’ve spent together, nor of the future that awaits us. Do you hear me? I regret _nothing_.”

“But the money…”

A soft smile spread over his lips and reached into his jacket pocket to procure a folded piece of paper. “The money is of no consequence,” he informed her while handing over the paper. “It’s being used for exactly what it needs to be used for.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she read over the contents of the letter, then her gaze snapped back up to her husband. “Nemo gave you a ship?”

“Actually,” he corrected with a chuckle. “He gave _us_ a ship. Or controlling interest of one, anyway. Controlling interest with the option to invest further into the company at any time.”

“I don’t understand… what? What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist. “We don’t have to choose between the estate and the sea. We can have both, and pass on whichever legacy suits this, or any of our children, when they come of age. We don’t need Liam’s money, and while I am loath to give that man anything other than a sound thrashing, it’s a small price to pay to ensure our child’s happiness and prospects in the long term.”

Emma’s head shook in disbelief as she stared up at the wonderful man before her. How had she gotten so fortunate that day on the platform? How could she have ever mistaken this honorable, caring, and gorgeous man for a no-good heel like Neal? Thank God she had!

Killian was right. Their child deserved better than to be labeled a bastard before they even had a chance to be born, especially when such a moniker couldn’t be further from the truth. Killian was her husband and, as far as she was concerned, the father of her baby, so if he felt buying Neal off was for the best, then she would trust his judgement and resolve.

She’d just finished voicing that to him when a throat cleared at the edge of the garden. “Begging you pardon, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, but young Mister Nolan is asking for you.”

Emma groaned and a chuckle sounded from Killian’s chest. “Come, love,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s see how badly off Leo is after what I am sure has been a number of pilfered champagne flutes.”

“Killian,” she whispered, tugging on his hand to slow their return. “About Neal--”

Killian stopped and cast his eyes towards the young servant who’d been tasked with finding them, ensuring he was out of earshot before peering down at her. “I’ll see to it, love. I’ll make up an excuse to tell your father and George about why I can’t travel back with you all Monday morning. I’ll settle the matter with Neal after you’ve all gone, then catch a later train back to the estate.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off with a soft press of his fingers to her lips. “I don’t want you to give that man another thought, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of another audience with you. So, please, Swan. Let me do this alone?”

Emma chewed her lip in contemplation then let go a soft sigh before nodding her agreement. “As you wish.”

~/~

It was difficult for Killian to not give in to the temptation to pace the length of the study as he awaited Cassidy’s arrival. After seeing his wife and her family off at the train station, Killian had presented himself at the bank in order to withdraw the funds demanded for Emma’s former paramour’s silence. The bank notes weighed heavily against his heart where they rested in his interior pocket, but not because he was suddenly unsure of his course of action.

A man had a duty to protect those within his care. Emma was his wife, she and the baby were his family, and he would do whatever necessary to safeguard them. However, after having been welcomed into a greater sense of family than he ever thought possible, Killian was feeling rather unsettled about keeping all of this a secret from the others.

They had discussed it the day before, he and Emma. Whether they ought to tell her family the truth; about the baby, the circumstances of their meeting, the ruse that became real, Neal, the blackmail, all of it. Agreeing that it would be best for her family to know, lest Neal attempted to fleece them with the tale and his threat of scandal, Killian had insisted they wait until after he’d dealt with the man himself. It would be difficult enough to face their shock, hurt, and possible ire, he didn’t want to sully those relationships further by tainting them with the prospect of blackmail.

The sooner the entire affair was over with so he could make his way back to Emma and face her family together, the better.

“Mr. Neal Cassidy to see you, Mr. Jones,” the butler announced.

Killian gestured that the man be shown in then made his way to the desk, positioning himself behind it, though he remained standing, and transferred the bank envelope from his pocket to the mahogany surface in front of him. The smug swagger in Cassidy’s step made Killian’s fist clench with a fresh desire to blacken the man’s other eye, but he kept hold of his restraint. He wanted to dispense with this unpleasantness quickly and without stoking the servants’ suspicions as to the nature of the man’s visit.

“That it?” Cassidy inquired, nodding to the bulging envelope laying atop the desk. Although Killian couldn’t really say what proper manners might look like under such circumstances, the man’s flagrant disregard for any merit of propriety rankled him nonetheless.

“Aye,” Killian replied. When Cassidy reached for the envelope, Killian slapped his hand over it, his gaze unyielding as he demanded. “Let me see the letter first.”

Producing the letter from his own pocket, Cassidy tossed it onto the desk. Killian maintained his steely stare, warning the man to not make a move towards the money, as he removed his hand in order to read over the contents of the letter.

“Does anyone else know about this?” Killian asked, hoping to distract himself from the heartache constricting his chest as he read Emma’s words. Words tinged with both anxiety and hope, with an underlying affection that had his gut turning over.

All it would have taken for Killian to have missed out on the greatest gifts the fates could have ever offered him, was for this man to have shown up on that train platform. What if Cassidy had chosen differently that day? What if Emma had never mistaken him for the man she’d been waiting for? What if he’d turned up at the last moment, and Killian had been forced to spend the night on that bench outside the ticket office?

Killian didn’t wish to ponder _those_ what ifs.

“I didn’t tell anyone about the letter,” Neal answered. “Truth be told, I didn’t want anyone to know I’d knocked up some girl. Didn’t want the responsibility to come back down on me. If I’d have known who she really was though…”

Cassidy left that statement hanging between them, perhaps hoping for some sort of response. When he didn’t get it, he added, “I have to hand it to you. You saw an opportunity with Emma and her… _situation_ , and you used it to your advantage. I’m curious though… what’s your endgame?”

Killian’s head snapped up, his brows furrowed in wary speculation. “My what?”

“Your end game,” Neal repeated. “Your exit strategy. You got Emma to marry you so you could get at her fortune, but you must have a way out of it, right? It’s not like you’re gonna stick around and raise my kid.”

Grinding his teeth together, Killian took a moment to rein in his anger. Adjusting his stance, he shifted his weight and tucked his thumb into his belt, projecting a posture of confidence and command. “You're right about that,” Killian responded. “I’m not going to stick around and raise _your_ kid. You forfeited whatever right you had to the child when you abandoned Emma, and once our business today is concluded, you’ll have no basis for any sort of claim over either of them. Therefore, I’ll be sticking around to raise _my_ child.”

“You’re serious?”

“Is there anything within my tone or expression that would indicate otherwise?”

Cassidy shook his head as an incredulous scoff rasped from his lungs. “I don’t get you, man.”

“I wouldn’t expect a man like you to understand.”

Cassidy’s face twisted with offense. “You don’t know me. You don’t know the first thing about--”

“I know the first time you laid eyes on Emma, you saw nothing but a conquest,” Killian interrupted with a clipped tone. “And when you discovered who she truly was, you saw her as nothing but loot. You see nothing of her true value.”

“Her true value?” Neal scoffed. “If not for the Nolan name, she’d be nothing but spoiled goods.”

“You think I’m with her because she’s a Nolan? You think I offered to help her because I was looking for a payday? I, like you, didn’t even know her real name until after I agreed to stand in _your place_.” Killian took in a shaky breath, silently cursing himself for losing his temper and praying his words had not carried too far. “Emma isn’t spoiled. Not to me. Her only fault was putting her trust in the likes of you. A man who felt nothing but panic at the knowledge that he was to be a father.”

Killian paused again. Tucking Emma’s letter into his breast pocket, he made his way round to the front of the desk and stood before Cassidy, whose posture shifted into a wary stance. Collecting the heavy envelope from the desk, Killian weighed it in his hands before extending it towards Neal.

“I suppose I should thank you, Mr. Cassidy. If not for your cowardice, I wouldn’t have this privilege; to be a husband and a father. A privilege that will last long after you’ve squandered these funds.”

With a sour expression, Cassidy reached out to take the envelope, but a new thought kept Killian from relinquishing his hold just yet.

“Which begs the question… what assurance do I have that you won’t come calling on us again when the money runs out?”

Cassidy sneered, but before he could reply, the study door swung open, capturing both men’s attentions.

“I can think of a few reassurances,” David stated. He was accompanied by George, as well as two other men, adorned in military uniforms. “It seems Mr. Cassidy was derelict in several aspects of his life. Including properly finishing out his military service. These men,” he indicated to the officers, “are here to see that he appears for his court-martial before being shipped back to America to serve out his sentence.”

Stunned, Killian stepped back as the military men advanced. Staying out of the two officers’ way while they informed Mr. Cassidy of his rights before forcefully restraining him, Killian noted with a flare of additional panic that he’d let go of the money.

“You can’t do this!” Neal protested. One of the officers handed the bank envelope back to Killian, who quickly tucked it away, which only managed to provoke Neal further. “We had a deal, Jones! I’m gonna tell anyone who’ll listen that I--”

“You really think anyone is going to believe a word you say?” George cut in coolly as the officers dragged Neal towards the door. “You’ve no credibility and… no proof.” The officers paused when George gestured for them to stop. The older man leaned in, his voice the definition of hushed menace, and his look was enough to make Cassidy cower within the officers’ grip. “If you utter a single word, publicly or privately, that in any way disparages my granddaughter, my great-grandchild, my grandson-in-law, or my family in general, then you will find out just how far my reach can extend.” Putting his attention back on the officers, George declared, “Take him away.”

Killian stood rooted for several long seconds, reeling over what had occurred as a myriad of emotions, thoughts, and questions bombarded him. Once the loud thud of the front door closing reverberated through the house, Killian fixed his attention upon the two men who were patiently awaiting his response to their intrusion.

Swallowing hard, Killian inquired, “Did Emma tell you--”

“No,” David answered, before he could finish the question. “A servant overheard your confrontation with Cassidy the other night and brought it to our attention yesterday morning.”

“You… You’ve known since yesterday and you… you didn’t say any--”

“We wanted to give you the opportunity to handle it,” George replied. “But we also knew the man would likely be back for more unless we could find a way to discredit him, so we went digging into his background and discovered he was AWOL.”

“We told Emma at the train station,” David continued. “It took some convincing for her to go back to the estate with Mags and Leo, especially with her concerns over our reaction towards the news of what the two of you had conspired.” Killian opened his mouth to start the litany of apologies gathering in his throat, but David raised his hand to stay his words. “I will give you the same assurances I gave her.”

David made his way to Killian, and set a hand upon his shoulder. Killian’s knees nearly buckled under its weight, and he held his breath in anticipation of the man’s response.

“I won’t pretend I wasn’t angry, or that I didn’t feel duped or even a little betrayed. But that’s nothing in comparison to the gratitude and admiration I feel for you, son.”

Killian’s mouth fell open and his brows shot up his forehead. “You do?”

“You protected Emma,” George stated, coming to stand with them. “You protected her honor, her reputation, and… her heart. Not only hers, but the child’s as well.” With a meaningful gleam, George captured Killian’s eyes with his own. “ _Your_ child.” Taking hold of Killian’s other shoulder, George gave it an affectionate squeeze. “You were right, blood doesn’t matter. You’ve been that child’s father in every way that matters, and you’ll be there for them all their life. They’ll want for nothing. That’s what matters.”

Overcome, Killian ducked his head, but could hear the same emotion currently pricking the corners of his eyes as it thickly coated David’s next words.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better husband for my Emma, and I know you are going to be an amazing father to my grandchildren. If I could change anything at all…” His words fell away, and Killian raised his head to meet his father-in-law’s gaze. A sly sort of smile crept at the corner of the man’s mouth as he confessed, “I would have been the one to blacken that bastard’s eye.”

Killian chuckled at his father-in-law's almost pouty tone, but it soon turned into a full-bodied laugh when George quipped, “Couldn’t you at least have broken his nose?”

The three men chortled, allowing the tensions of the morning to dissipate as they slapped one another good naturedly on the back and professed their affection for each other in the way that men do. Pulling his watch from his pocket, George announced that they should be getting to the train station, but Killian had one last task he wished to fulfill before departing.

Crossing to the fireplace, he took Emma’s letter from his pocket and struck one of the long matches kept on the mantle. Flames caught the corner of the page, and Killian waited until it was fully engulfed before tossing it atop the grate. The edges of the paper curled, and he watched the plumes of smoke swirl up the chimney until nothing was left of Cassidy’s connection to Killian’s wife and child but ash. One day, he and Emma may very well tell their child the truth, but that decision would be theirs to make, and if done, it would not be prompted by shame or threats. Killian made certain of that.

~/~

Emma stood on the balcony and looked out over the vast green acreage of the estate, waiting for her husband to ready himself for dinner. He, her father, and her grandfather had arrived back a few hours earlier, and after giving her and her mother a recounting of the meeting with Neal, she and Killian had retreated to their bedroom to… _rest_. The initial shock and negative feelings that had first bubbled to the surface when they’d all learned the truth had given way to excitement and joy over the prospect of a new addition, and Emma felt certain they were in for a long and drawn out evening of _plans_ that would need to be made.

While she wasn’t exactly eager to sit through her parents’ and grandfather’s estimations of how she and Killian should proceed towards looming parenthood, she couldn’t find it in herself to be truly put out either. Now that everything was out in the open, she finally felt as though she could truly embrace the future ahead.

A smile lifted the corners of her mouth at the feel of strong arms snaking their way around her waist. A moment later she was squirming in Killian’s embrace and a squeal left her when the rough brush of his beard tickled the side of her neck.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?”

Emma sighed and melted against his firm chest. “I’m just preparing myself for all the toasting and not so subtle _advice_ about to be heaped upon us.”

Killian’s chest rumbled with a chuckle, then much to Emma’s displeasure, he pulled away, leaving her on the balcony as he briefly stepped back inside. “Not much either of us can do about it, I’m afraid,” he said, making his way back out, with two small goblets of wine in his hands. “So, perhaps a bit of fortification is in order.”

He handed her a partially filled glass as his brows waggled at her, causing a light laugh to spill over her lips.

“Shall we toast to our usual?” she asked, holding up her glass.

“No,” he said softly, placing a hand at her hip and running his thumb over the side of her abdomen. “No more toasts to what ifs.” His forget-me-not eyes sparkled in the dying light of the day as he declared, “Only assurances. Of my love for you, our baby, and our happy beginning.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Emma said with a wide smile, clinking her glass to his and taking a small sip to complete the toast before stretching up on her toes to meet his already descending lips.

Needless to say, they were going to be late for dinner.

The End


End file.
